A Dark Commitment
by kiltsaresexy
Summary: With The Darkness banished from Albion, Queen Keira has been left with the consequences of her benevolence. Feeling that she has nothing left to give, she struggles to cope with her own personal darkness and turns to a person well versed in treading in shadow.
1. To Die For

-Chapter One-

I closed my eyes, the gentle breeze hitting my face. For a moment, I could pretend that I hadn't just given the eulogy to one of my dearest, most trusted friends. For a moment, I could breathe, but it didn't last long. Walter had been like a father to me, and he was gone. The Crawler had taken him, forced me to kill him. I felt sick at the thought of it. I was still rather bruised and damaged from the fight. I had refused to hit him, at first. I allowed him to beat me nearly to death before I raised my blade against him, but I still wept the whole time, knowing that it could only end with his death and my heartbreak.

I held him as he died, and he thanked me for it. That was what hurt the most. He'd wanted to die. He wanted it all to be over, and he knew he would be leaving me. He assured me that I no longer needed him, but he was wrong. I needed him more than he could have ever known, and I never told him. Perhaps it would have given him something to live for if he knew just how much he meant to The Queen of Albion. He was the father I never had, as mine had died very shortly after I was conceived. When my mother died, and when Logan took the throne, Walter had become my guiding light in the world, always pointing my compass in the right direction. I needed him in those days, as I needed him through the revolution. I would always need him, but he would no longer be there chuckling loudly or raising his tankard to me in the pub or shielding me from the harsh reality of the world.

I exhaled, putting a hand against the boning of my corset. It felt as if it had been laced far too tightly around my bruised ribs, and I leaned against the railing of my balcony, looking over toward the smokestacks of industrial. Was this what my country had become? Cold, smoking clouds of industry? The poor still suffered in the streets while the aristocrats dined on the finest cuisine. With all the good I was told I was doing, I thought a real change would have been made by now. I thought that those I had sacrificed for would remain at my side, but I realized that the hope had been the naïve aspiration of an idealistic girl. That girl died when Walter did.

My tears rolled down my face hot and unrestrained, and I closed my eyes. I had given everything I had to my people, but what was left for me? I felt hollow, full only of sorrow and anguish. I gripped at the railing, and I exhaled shakily. I thought with the defeat of The Crawler, this dark bundle of anger would have dissipated. I thought it had been the fowl creature's doing, but it was still inside of me. All along, it had been my own darkness that was growing like a cancer within me.

My eyes fell to the statue of another man who I had killed for the people of Albion. Logan pointed east, as he always did, his eyes set ever on the horizon. After his execution, I had been urged to tear the the tribute to his coronation down, but the thought brought more pain than I had anticipated. I simply couldn't. The statue had captured him as he used to be, firm, but regal and just. He had been such a different man before, but the people would never forgive him for the wrong he'd done. That day in court, he'd stood before me, his eyes full of remorse, but I still sentenced the only family I had left to death. The people cheered and patted me on the back for my choice, but I couldn't bring myself to feel anything but sadness. I'd thought I made the right decision, especially when he'd executed Elliot strictly to make a point to me, but I was wrong. I'd chosen wrong. I'd dug myself into this emptiness, and I would have to live with it for the rest of my life. I clenched my hand into a fist as I drew away to enter my bedchambers once more.

I closed the doors loudly behind me, and I saw that Angus was curled up on the edge of my bed, his wide brown eyes seeming to be just as sad as I felt. I approached him, patting his head gently, but it didn't stave off the sadness. I could think only of the people I'd lost along the road to my rule.

Elliot had been the first. He had been my first everything, after all, so it would only be appropriate that he would be the initial loss that would rouse my deep loneliness. He had asked to die, just as Walter had, and what could I do but grant it? It would have degraded him to be spared, condemning others to die. He would never have forgiven me if I'd asked Logan to kill the protesters instead. I knew him well enough to know that. He had been the innocent blood that Logan spilled that crossed the line. He had been the spark to the powder keg of my rebellion. His death was necessary, some might argue, to force my hand. Those protesters had never descended upon the castle, how different would my life be? Logan could not have pulled the weight of the world on his shoulders, as I'd been forced to do. Theresa had assured me of that. Everything and everyone had its purpose, and Logan was destined to fail. It was cruel of fate to deal him that hand.

Even Logan had asked for death, knowing that his crimes would never be forgiven. All of the men I loved asked to die for me, for my cause, for my salvation, for my glory. Could I be left so easily? Did I rate so low on their scale of priorities that death would be the preferable option to sticking it out and remaining at my side? Logan would have liked to live, I was sure, but he also knew that the life would have been empty of any sort of happiness but full of regret. Some might say that it was a mercy to grant him a swift and just end.

I found that Angus had fallen asleep beneath my soft attention. I withdrew my hand, and I steadied myself against the bedpost, I couldn't seem to stop crying. One dark thought after another crossed my mind, and I was pulled into a downward spiral. I almost felt like collapsing, giving up, handing the crown to whoever wanted it. Perhaps death would be preferable to this world. At least in death, I was assured by the monks there would be no pain. That was what they'd told me when they prepared Walter's body for burial, and I clung to that hope. Maybe the light had enveloped him like he'd said in his final words.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Yes, what is it?" I asked shortly, wiping my face. I stiffened, and I watched the doors as Hobson scurried within. He looked out of breath, as if he had just run all the way here from counting gold pieces in the treasury.

"I am terribly sorry to interrupt, but there is an urgent message for you," Hobson puffed, his round sagging face nearly purple from exertion.

I looked at him, raising my eyebrows. I cleared my throat, trying to shrug off the sadness. "Well?"

"Mister Reaver awaits you in the study," He told me, his jowls trembling as he continued to gasp for breath.

"_That_ is what you consider urgent, Hobson?" I asked.

"He said that if you did not come to the study to meet with him, he'd come collect you himself," He said, finally catching his breath. "I thought that perhaps-"

"Does he not realize that I've just come from a funeral?" I asked, my heart pounding angrily beneath my breast. I gathered up the skirts of my black mourning gown, moved toward the door without even glancing at the state of myself in the mirror, and I hurried toward the study, each of my steps more deliberate and quick than the last. Hobson scurried behind me, trying to untangle the black lace veil that had been pinned out of my hair but pushed up out of my eyes. Soon enough I had torn up the stairs toward the study, and I threw the door open.

Hobson hurried forward to introduce me, "Queen Keira of Albion..."

"That is quite enough," Reaver said, his mouth twisting with distaste. "I _know_ who she is. Scurry along. I am sure you will find someone else to annoy somewhere in the castle."

Hobson wheezed, and he withdrew, closing the doors behind us, leaving us in privacy.

Reaver stood in perfect form, his tall slender frame accentuated in a suit of all black, and he had his hat in his hands, as if he, too, were mourning. An act, surely, to butter me up for something or another. His eyes found mine, and I was struck by the darkness in them. If I required a lesson in treading the darkness, it appeared I needed to look no further. He surely had enough practice in his years of corruption and greed. He nodded softly, and he sucked in a deep breath, setting his hat down on my desk. His eyes flicked up and down my body, taking in my funeral attire and seemingly trying to decipher all it concealed. "Your Majesty, I am terribly sorry to hear about the loss of your friend, Walter."  
"I'm sure you are," I said in a vehement breath. "What is so urgent that you would disturb me on this day, Reaver?"

"Your acquaintance Page has started circulating this," He whipped a piece of paper from his breast pocket, and he thrust it toward me, his jaw set in what looked like disapproval.

I took the paper, and I inspected it. It was a copy of a petition intended to come to me after it had reached a certain number of signatures. It clamored for control of Bowerstone Industrial to be passed over to Page. I read the words, and I glanced back up to Reaver. I could understand why he was upset, but this issue surely could have waited for another day.

"I understand your concern, Reaver, but I don't understand why you've brought this to me personally," I said, handing him the paper once more. "You could have set up an appointment to appear before me in court, like any other citizen."

"Oh, but Your Majesty, I thought we were both aware that I am not just _any other citizen,_" He said, putting his hands on his hips. "I have advised you and done your bidding. I believe one could even say that I have been a rather good sport through all of this, with all of the naïve decisions you have made."  
"How dare you-"

"Your Majesty, I am not trying to offend," He said, playing the martyr. "I am merely being honest with you." He loomed closer, adjusting the edge of the veil against my cheek, taking the opportunity to touch my skin 'by mistake' with a gloved hand. "This Page has done nothing but ask and take and clamor for more. I daresay, even if placed in such a position of power, she would not be content. I, on the other hand, am _quite_ content where I am." His eyes flashed with humor as he offered me half of a smirk.

"Reaver, I am not in the mood to discuss such things," I said, turning away from him. I was frazzled, emotionally exhausted, and I couldn't help but feel like a mouse faced with a hungry cat. "Go, and we will continue this discussion at a later date. It is not as urgent as you've made it out to be."  
"Oh, but My Queen, it is," He said, his face once again shifting to the more serious mask of the businessman. "You see, this petition will cause quite a stir amount people in Industrial. You could say it may give them rebellious thoughts. Hasn't Albion suffered through enough rebellion, Your Majesty? Can we not stop the fighting before it begins?"

I exhaled, and I nodded, returning my gaze to him once more. "I will meet with you tomorrow, and we can discuss the finer details then."

"Over a hot meal perhaps?" Reaver asked, leaning on his walking stick."I always find that business runs much smoother when both parties are full and _satisfied_." He tapped his stick on the floor softly as he rose up to his full height once more, a cloying grin creeping onto his mouth.

"Is this your way of inviting yourself to dine with me?" I asked, cocking a brow at him.

"No, no," He said, waving his hand and leaning his walking stick against the edge of my desk. "I am inviting _you_ to dine with _me_. It has been a while since you have been to my home in Millfields, hasn't it? I promise, Your Majesty, it will not be as chaotic as it was the night of your first visit."

The Wheel of Misfortune, the balverines, Barry Hatch and his strange speech impediment...The night had proven to be rather chaotic and confusing. It was the night that I had come to see just how hot-headed and impatient Page truly was. Her half-baked scheme had gotten her men killed and put our lives in danger as well.

I gulped softly, and I was unsure of how to reply. To decline would be very rude and ungracious. To accept would bring a whole new set of problems on myself. I would have to be wary of anything and everything. Part of me still did not trust Reaver, as he had tried to antagonize me the whole time I'd been in the throne, but he was, at least, polite about it. He'd taken my repeated dismissal of his suggestions with great stride, or so I hoped. Perhaps getting me to his mansion in Millfields would be his opportunity to gain the upper-hand in our working relationship.

He waited for my response, his dark brows arching upward.

"I suppose that could be arranged, Reaver," I said with a small nod. "I will bring a compliment of guards, of course, in case we happen to... disagree on matters."

"Oh, my dear, you needn't worry about that," He said. "I think you'll find that I can be most accommodating." He chuckled softly, as if he had just made a joke. "Though, bring whomever you wish, Your Majesty. I merely wish to have the opportunity to show you generosity and kindness, something the people of Albion have been short on lately."

Generosity and kindness from Reaver? Walter would be rolling on the ground with laughter if he'd heard that particular bit of ridiculousness. The thought of Walter sent a blade of anguish into my heart, but I held it together. I merely gave him a tight-lipped smile, and nodded, as if to dismiss him. I tacked on, "If that is all, I think I will be taking tea soon."

"Oh, yes, Your Majesty, you mustn't neglect your tea," He said, humor and sarcasm edging his voice. "It just so happens that I have other obligations as well, though none so crucial as tea and biscuits, I'm afraid." He took my hand into his, and he laid a gentle kiss upon my knuckles, his eyes trailing up to mine once more.

My stomach jumped at the touch of both his hands and his gaze. It was so direct, bold. No one else had dare look at me like that for a very long time. I would have assumed that Reaver's skin would be cold and hard, as his demeanor could be at times, but his lips were shockingly warm. I tugged my hand away from his grip, and I straightened. "Good day, Reaver."

He bowed generously. His direct gaze remained on me, just as warm as his mouth had been, perhaps hotter. "I look forward to tomorrow, Your Majesty." He turned, sweeping his hat off of my desk, and he retrieved his walking stick. He exited the room, popping his tall black hat onto his head and whistling a blithesome tune.

I crossed my arms over my chest, and I felt myself slipping back into my melancholy. Reaver's visit had, for a few sparse moments, made me forget about how sad I was, replacing my sadness with anger, then distraction, but he was gone, and the gloom rushed back into place. I heard Hobson cross the threshold into the room.

"I'll take my tea now, Hobson," I said quietly. "In my bedroom."

"Yes, yes, Your Majesty," He said in a hurry. "Is there anything else you require?"

"No," I said, shaking my head, bringing my eyes to look at him.

He shuffled off out of the study, and I followed slowly. He turned toward the direction of the kitchen, whereas I continued toward my bedroom. As I reentered, Angus wagged his tail softly, his ears perking up. I returned to his side, and I stroked and patted him. His chocolate-colored eyes were sympathetic and wise, knowing how much I was hurting. He leaned into my touch, a soft sigh of contentment leaving him.

"You don't have any plans to leave me, do you, boy?" I asked softly, my throat tightening.

He yipped softly, almost chiding me for suggesting such a thing.

"Good," I replied. "I don't think I could take it." My tears poured anew, and I knelt beside the bed, pressing my face into the clean softness of his fur. He curled himself around me, giving me what comfort he could offer, and I held him tightly.

* * *

The tea was soothed my knotted stomach, but my nerves were still raw. It had been hours now, and I'd gone through a fair amount of tea. The moon sat in a corner of the sky, thin and waning, casting its dim light across the courtyard. Walter and Logan's statues looked dark, almost diabolical in the sparse light, and I forced myself to look away. I pulled my robe tighter against my body as the cold wind tried to urge me back inside.

Shivering a little, I leaned against the rail of the balcony once more. I gazed down to the gardens. I had spent many days as a young girl in those gardens, and now I could barely look at them. So many memories were held in the gardens. It was where I'd had my first kiss. It was where Walter had taught me how to shoot a rifle. It was where Logan had taken me to tell me of our mother's passing. He'd sat me down on a bench, and knelt before me, taking my hands in his. His eyes had been full of so much sadness and vulnerability, as if he wasn't sure how to break the news. I was barely eleven years old at the time, and I never expected that my mother, The Hero of Bowerstone, a seemingly immortal Hero, would have succumbed to a fever. She had always seemed to strong and full of life, but in her last years, something had changed. She withdrew from everyone, especially her best friend, Walter.

I couldn't be sure what had happened, but it had been life-changing. Maybe she'd lost someone or something none of us knew about. Maybe she'd grown tired of the crown and all of its obligations. I couldn't blame her. I was worn and tired after only one year.

Walter's statue caught my eye once more, and I sighed. His time in the world had been long and full. He lived much longer than an old soldier could hope for, and he'd died in battle. He would have wanted The Crawler beaten at any cost, and it was. He was gone, but his final moments had been full of light—an end to his darkness. I could only pray that an end to mine was coming soon.

I withdrew from the balcony, and I entered the solitude of my bedchamber. Angus slept sprawled across the chaise in the corner, and I stripped my robe, tossing it carelessly to the ground. I slipped between the sheets, the warmth of the blankets taking the chill from my body almost immediately.

Turning over to my side, I sighed. I was exhausted, but I knew my mind would not be at ease after such a day. I blinked softly, trying to think of anything but the events of the day. I, instead focused on the situation with Page and Reaver. He had every right to be upset, as he had been running Bowerstone Industrial for ages. He had even compromised, taking heed of my newly drafted laws outlawing child labor and imposing a higher minimum wage for workers. He merely requested that he be allowed to continue his work on my advisory council as well as in Industrial.

I had no idea whether Page was business-minded or not. She had enough experience revolting, sure, but could she run multiple businesses? Reaver not only ran his own businesses, but he dabbled in real-estate, selling and renting buildings businesses and families alike. He held the economy in the palm of his hand. Could Page do that?

I thought through he issue for an hour more before deciding that I would try to sleep. Perhaps more answers would come to me after a night of rest. I'd barely been able to sleep since The Crawler came to Bowerstone, but it was over. I needed to rest. I closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would take me swiftly.

A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, after a creative dry-spell. I'm happy to be able to start fresh and put out something that I will enjoy writing and that I hope people will enjoy reading. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think because I value the opinions and views of my readers. I will try to update as often as I can. Thanks for reading!


	2. Lights

**-Chapter Two-**

I yawned as the carriage moved over the hills of Millfields. I hadn't slept the night before, and I was sure it showed on my face. I ran a finger under each of my eyes, as if it would smooth the dark circles away. My lady in waiting had assured me that I did not look tired, but my lady in waiting knew better than to insult a cranky hero. I saw Reaver's mansion drawing closer, and I sighed. He had sent word that he wished to have an early lunch, so I had been rushed out into the cold a fair bit sooner than I had originally intended.

The taint of The Darkness had subsided just in time for winter to take hold and put its frosty bite into the air. I had worn black again because its simplicity suited my mood. I was dressed a bit formally for lunch. The dress was draped off of my pale shoulders, the neckline and edges of the loose, flowing sleeves trimmed in dark opal stones. knowing Reaver, he would also be suited formally. He did seem to love putting on airs and having an excuse to don an obtuse piece of fashion, setting trends among the nobles as he went along. I remember the first time he wore his stove-top hat to court, he was the only man in the room with one. The very next week, there were black top-hats on the heads of nearly every dapper gentleman in Bowerstone, though none dared to surpass Reaver's in size. I was sure he wouldn't have that, at all.

I ran my fingers through my hair, which I'd worn merely pulled out of my face, the wavy tendrils flowing freely down my back. Gazing out the window, I saw that we were upon Bower Lake, which I had chosen to preserve, looked dark and bleak with no sun in the sky to light its waters. The grayness of the sky most likely meant that we'd be showered with rain some time during the day, and I dreaded it. I could only hope the rain would come once I was in the comfort of my home. Though I'd already had a speedy bath in the early morning hours, I longed to revel in the luxury of a long hot bath. The thought of it brought on a wave of near-contentment.

The carriage came to a halt, and the door was promptly opened by one of Reaver's servants. He had dirty blonde hair, and timid bronze eyes that dare not look directly at me. His face was handsome and free of hair, but he couldn't have been older than eighteen. He assisted me from the carriage, his hands careful and respectful with no pinching or prodding. This replacement seemed like a huge step-up from 'Bawwy Hatch.'

"Y-y-your Majesty," He stuttered, bowing as I touched the ground. "Master R-reaver is expecting you." I couldn't quite tell if he had a genuine stammer or if he was fearful or overwhelmed. Perhaps a bit of both.

"Thank you...?" I trailed off, asking his name as I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Murphy, Your Majesty," He managed to speak clearly as he motioned toward the door, where Reaver now stood, waiting to receive me. He was dressed in one of his favorite white suits, as I recalled that he'd worn it to court more than once. The season had finally become more accommodating for such warm clothing.

Murphy trailed behind me as I took to the stairs, and I felt a rough tug on the back of my dress where his feet tread. I stumbled forward, but Reaver was at my side in a flash, catching me and setting me back to rights. He strode around me, and he gripped his servant firmly by the arm, and he led him to the door, a murderous glint in his eyes. The boy yelped, and he hurried into the mansion.

When he returned his attention to me, he exhaled and rolled his eyes. "I am terribly sorry, Your Majesty. I simply do _not_ know what to do with him." He ushered me into this house, his hand barely ghosting over the small of my back.

"He's just a boy," I offered in Murphy's defense, offering him a soft, forgiving look. "And my dress does trail a good bit in the back."

"If you'll excuse me, Your Majesty. I must have a word with my boy, here," Reaver said, giving Murphy a deliberate stare. Before I could object, the pair strode off into a room to the left, closing the door tightly behind them.

I sighed, fearing for the boy, but what could I say? I was a guest in Reaver's home, and he was free to treat his paid subordinates as he wished. As I glanced around the foyer, I noticed that his mansion was in a far more tidy state than it had been on my first and only other visit. The décor was elegant and tasteful, though the over-abundance of portraits of the owner was slightly unnerving. His eyes seemed to watch me wherever I went, and I nearly jumped when my pair of guards filed into the house behind me.

Reaver reappeared from the study with Murphy in tow. Murphy was red-faced and trembling, but he stepped forward, bowing deeply and saying, "I am v-very sorry, Your Majesty."

"And?" Reaver asked, his arms crossed over his chest as he scrutinized every detail of Murphy's apology, perhaps even judging him on posture.

"I b-b-b-beg your forgiven-ness," He said, his eyes fixed on the floor.

One of my guards snorted with laughter, and I whipped around giving him a scolding glare. He swallowed his laughter hastily and straightened up, looking a fair bit more focused.

"Very good," Reaver said dismissively. He waved the boy on, and Murphy backed to the far edge of the room, still in a bow. He returned his eyes to me, and he took a few steps, circling me, looking at me from every angle. "Wearing black again, Your Majesty. People will start to assume your tastes have taken a turn toward the macabre."

"Wearing a color twice does not confirm a taste in the macabre," I quipped, glancing up and down. "You've worn that suit a lot, Reaver. I wonder what people think about you."  
"So I see you take as much of an interest in my wardrobe as I have in yours." He shed his coat, and he held it out, letting the fabric slip gradually through his fingers.

Murphy sped from his corner, able to catch the pristine coat before it hit the floor. He breathed a sigh of relief and retreated to stow it.

"You torture that boy," I said, tutting softly.

"That boy was starving and homeless before I took him on," Reaver said, turning around and leading me in the direction of the dining room. Without his coat, I could truly see just how perfectly crafted his trousers were. They clung to him in ways that didn't seem possible for a tailored garment, and they accentuated everything.

I tore my attention away from his trousers and all they contained, and I saw Murphy enter the room once more, stumbling over his feet. He stole a glance at me, but tore it away when he saw that I was looking at him. He twiddled his thumbs, and he tried to look anywhere but at me or Reaver. What did Reaver do to this poor boy to strike such obedient fear into him?

The dining room was large, but it was fitted with a small, intimate table. As Reaver neared the table, he pulled out the first chair for me, and I sat down, thanking him quietly. It wasn't that I hadn't expected such manners from him, I just didn't expect him to exercise them when there was no one to observe or give him a pat on the head.

Reaver took his seat, and a curvaceous woman packed into clothing that was almost too tight came forward to fill our bowls from the tureen of hot soup. She leaned generously across Reaver's field of vision as she served him, but he looked right through her, not particularly interested in giving this particular tart any of his interest. He instead struck up conversation with me, his eyes finding mine over the curve of her generous breasts. "I've been curious about your eyes, Your Majesty," Reaver said.

"My eyes?" I asked, blinking softly.

"They are blue," He said. "I seem to remember thinking to myself years ago that you and Logan did not look at all like siblings except for your matching _brown _eyes."

My eyes had, indeed, changed color in the time since my Heroic abilities had been unlocked. With every Will spell I cast, my body changed ever so slightly. My eyes lightened to a striking shade of blue. I had pale intricate designs of permanent marks that were beginning to blossom across the core of my body. I would only assume that after more usage of Will, they would eventually spread to my face and limbs. "I suppose it must have something to do with being a Hero."

He kept his eyes on mine, our view finally completely unobstructed as the woman finished her job, looking slightly disappointed that she didn't receive the attention she so desperately worked to attain. "No matter the reason, they are a shade that undoubtedly makes the sky groan with envy." By some magical coincidence, thunder rumbled in the distance, and Reaver looked positively tickled. He laughed as he drew deeply from his glass of wine.

A soft smile spread across my mouth at the timing. I avoided the glass of wine that had been poured for me to reach for a glass of water. I sipped lightly at it, noticing a faint hint of lemon flavor clinging to my taste buds. It was refreshing, but the smell of the soup was becoming increasingly tempting as it sat beneath my nose. I took a spoonful and the taste was divine. Even the cook at the palace had never been able to coax such flavor out of onion soup. I looked up to see that Reaver, too, had tucked into his own bowl.

Feeling that this was becoming less and less of a luncheon scheduled strictly for business, I adjusted my posture, and the expression on my face to reflect the task at hand. "So, Reaver, you have this opportunity to discuss business with me, and you use the time to reflect on the color of my eyes," I pointed out.

"Oh, Your Majesty, you and I both know that you will not be handing Bowerstone Industrial to that girl no matter how many signatures she gathers on that pathetic piece of parchment," Reaver said, gesturing vaguely.

"And what leads you to draw that conclusion?" I asked steadily. Why had he assumed that I would just pass over the issue so easily?

"I may be considered what one would call a 'despicable' man, but I know my job. No one would be able to maneuver the intricate channels of the machine that is Bowerstone Industrial like I do. It takes a manipulative mind to run business as smoothly as I can." He smirked. "And it runs beautifully under my authority. It always has, but if I were given some sort of incentive to skew the direction of its profit in the favor of _the people-" _He used those words with no intention to mask his disdain. "-they may be more willing to see things for what they are."

"And what are they, Reaver?" I was almost enthralled in the passion with which he spoke. He truly did enjoy doing what he did, and he was willing to fight for it, surely.

"I _am_ Bowerstone Industrial," He said, his fingers running idly around the rim of his wineglass. "Without me it would crumble, _ma chérie, _and that is a _fact_."

"What sort of incentive were you hoping to recieve?" I asked, taking another small gulp of water. I could only hope it wasn't gold because the treasury did not have much of that to spare.

"Now, use your imagination, Your Majesty," He said, his voice dropping into a seductive tone. His tempting lips turned upward into a smile. "What do you think an avidly devoted subject truly deserves of a Queen?" He brought a hand up to his face, a finger idly stroking his chin, bringing my attention to his mouth.

My stomach knotted, and I felt an uneasy heat spread through me. His gaze was stifling, and I broke away from it, trying my best to overthrow the thoughts of Reaver's mouth and how it might feel against mine. I took a generous gulp of my water, and I cleared my throat. "I am not sure, Reaver."

"Did you know that I have been a faithful servant to the crown through the rein of _two_ monarchs, now?" He asked, knowing the answer already. Of course I was aware, but I wondered what his point was. "I had been led to believe that such loyalty was often rewarded."

"Reaver, if you want something, ask for it," I told him bluntly, growing slightly impatient with the way he tiptoed around the point.

"Is it truly that simple, My Queen?" He questioned, his dark eyes filling with a spark of a curious light. He tilted his head to the side, and he sighed. "My, my, if I had known, I would have asked for _many _things much sooner." His hand slid across the table, and it covered mine, trapping it there beneath its strength and heat.

"Reaver-"  
"I am a businessman," Reaver told me. "I have worked for more years than you can imagine to reach this level of comfort, but I am lacking something...something substantial." His face lit up as he spoke, and he leaned in, his fingers gripping mine tightly.

I was unsettled once more, and I tried to focus my eyes on anything but his. My heart had taken up residence in my throat, and I found that I was sinking backward into my chair, trying to put more distance between us.

"I think a proper title and the lands to go with it would be a sufficient reward for navigating the salty waters of indrusty, hmmm?" Reaver asked. "That is within your power to grant, is it not?"

"It is," I said with a nod. "With proper provocation."

"Ah," He said. "I was afraid you might say something like that." He snorted with laughter, and his hand squeezed mine before he drew it away. "I suppose that putting up with your benevolence is not reason enough to be elevated to a higher station, is it?"

My mouth tightened, and I pushed my mostly-empty bowl away. As the busty woman came forward to clear our plates, Reaver's eyes continued to bore into me.

"I have attempted to make your transition into your reign as easy as possible," Reaver informed me. "I have built your silly schools. I have ended the child labor that was keeping the economy thriving effortlessly. I have raised the minimum paid wage to nearly double what it had been, yet you are unsatisfied." He heaved a sigh, and he shook his head. "I do not know what to do to please you, Your Majesty. What can I do to prove that I have paid my due to Albion?" His bottom lip poked out slightly as he tried to look as dejected as possible.

The thought of giving him a title and the lands and power to go with it was frightening. What would he do with such power? Would he exert it for his own selfish needs? Undoubtedly, but to what extent? I folded my hands in my lap when a plate of piping-hot meat and potatoes was set before me. I nodded in thanks to the voluptuous servant, and I considered my options. If I denied this to Reaver there was no telling what he would do. He could collapse Bowerstone's economy in mere weeks if he so wished it. He held so much power already, so perhaps giving him a title and satiating his ego wouldn't be too terrible.

"The gears are turning, I see," He said, picking up his fork and knife to cut his meat. "Let me know if you suspect a sudden mental combustion."

"The fact that I am giving it thought is a great favor to you," I told him, my anger flaring. "I could very well have denied you and been done with it as soon as you broached the topic."

He inclined his head in a nod of acknowledgement. He took a bite of his meat, silently waiting for my decision.

"I will grant you the title of Marquess of Brightwall if you show me a kindness," I said.

"I will gladly show you any kindness you require," his voice was low and seductive.

"I would like for you to place Page in charge of worker relations," I said. "It would give her a job of importance, and it may create a better environment for your workers." Hopefully, it would also show Page that I was no longer her stepping stone to whatever she wanted while satiating her need to make a difference in Industrial.

He sighed, his eyes rolling, but he nodded slowly.

"And maybe it would give you a chance to improve your reputation," I said. "If I let you loose on the people of Brightwall, it might be best that they don't think you're going to turn their villiage into a group of brothels and game-houses."

"Oh? That is out of the question, then?" He asked almost playfully. "Though, I must ask...Marquess of Brightwall? Are you truly trying to place me as far away from Industrial as you possibly can? I believe Millfields would be much better suited _por moi_."

"There is already a _Duke_ of Millfields," I told him. He was an old, rather cranky old man named Timothy Goulding, but he had been bestowed with the title by my mother many years ago for his great assistance in bringing Albion back to order. "I cannot just take the title away from him and give it to you. Not to mention that raising a commoner to the position of Duke is simply unheard-"

"Was your mother not a commoner? She spent her early years begging in the streets, if my memory of history serves. That leach Goulding was a commoner before your mother granted him his title and lands."

"He did a great service to this nation," I told him, reaching for my glass once more.

"And what was that, dear? He lined your mother's empty pockets with gold?" He raised his fork back to his mouth.

I stood suddenly, my Will activating with my anger. The glass shattered between the strength of my fingers. Water and glass scattered across my meal. "You are not to speak of my mother-"

"It was not meant as an insult," He said dabbing his mouth with his napkin and setting it back in his lap. He drained his glass of the rest of his wine. "As you well know, wars and revolutions cost _gold_. She did was she had to, as you did."

I glanced around to see that the servants and guards were avoiding my gaze, obviously fearful of my short-tempered demonstration of power. I stepped back and a few of the servants were running forward to clean up the splinters of bloodied glass and the puddle of water. I could feel my face reddening with embarassment. "I'm sorry," I breathed quietly, looking to my hand to see that the wounds were merely scrapes that were already knitting back together.

"It is forgiven. I do so love a woman who is a little hot-blooded," He remarked, laughter touching his eyes. He took his napkin from his lap and laid it across his plate.

"Perhaps I should be leaving soon," I said, but when I looked out the window, I saw that the sky had basically opened up. The rain was torriential and lightning lit up the area around Reaver's mansion.

His attention followed mine, and he tutted. "Well, it seems that you will not be going anywhere, Your Majesty. I cannot allow you to travel in such abismal conditions. You will simply have to stay here as my guest."

"Reaver, I am not sure if that would be appropriate, and-"

"I _insist,_" He said as he rose from his seat, and he nodded toward a door on the other side of the room. He fearlessly grabbed my arm, entwining it with his, and he escorted me personally into his sitting room. His embrace didn't repulse me My guards spilled in after us, and Reaver sat me on a plush blood red sofa, taking a seat a respectful distance away. "Now, I will see to it that you are returned safely home once the weather has become a little more forgiving. Perhaps you could send one of your guards by horseback to deliver word that you will be spending a night or so here with me to forego nature's cruelty."

"I am perfectly capable of returning home without subjecting myself to the elements," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. Taking lunch with Reaver had been a large step out of my level of comfort, but to stay the night with him...The thought was overwhelming. I couldn't compromise myself around him, for I knew I was in a state to be easily shaken, especially now.

"So be it," Reaver said, his lips tighetening softly. He was obviously displeased, but he cleared his throat, and he glanced about, as if trying to recall what we had been talking about before the conversation got completely derailed.

"Goulding," I said, reminding him flatly.

"Ah, well," Reaver sighed. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss such matters in front of those _I_ do not personally trust." He glanced deliberately to my guards.

They snapped to attention, taking his suggestion of dismissal as a threat. When I waved them off, silently assuring them that I was fine without them, they left quickly. The door creaked as it closed once more.

I raised my eyebrows to Reaver. "Satisfied?"

"If it is my satisfaction that you want, then I suggest you scoot a little closer, My Queen." He closed the distance between us, instead of waiting for me. "Are you cold, Your Majesty? You are shaking like a leaf, my dear." He slipped an arm around me, and he loomed in closer, his mouth moving toward my ear. "I know a good many ways that I could warm you." His hand trailed up the bodice, caressing my ribs, and I suddenly regretting opting out of wearing a corset to save my bruised ribs the agony. His touch was light enough to sent a tingle down my spine, but forceful enough to send a rush of heat to my core. "Now, where were we?"

Air caught in my throat, and I felt my inside jolt at the deep, erotic tone of his voice. I could feel my blood pulsing hot within my veins, and I chewed the inside of my lip. I gathered myself quickly before straightening my spine. "We were discussing Goulding, Reaver." I removed his hand from my body just as it crept up toward my bust. "And then I was leaving."

"Oh, Your Majesty, you certainly know how to spoil the moment," He sighed.

I simply crossed my arms over my chest.

"It may shock you to find out that he has been slandering you shamlessly since you have taken the throne," Reaver said. "I never mentioned it because I had never hoped to have this sort of rapport with you." He'd never hoped that I would take and value his opinion, he probably meant. Another crack of thunder resonated through Millfields, and he briefly turned his attention to the window. "Such a vicious tongue should be reined in. He has no children, no prospects other than his gold, which nowhere compares to my own wealth, and he has no respect for you, My Queen. He's called you names that even _I _find distasteful."

"You are one to speak of vicious tongues, Reaver," I noted.

"My tongue is vicious, but I think you will find that it can do much more than tell harsh truths..."

I shrugged off his sultry comment, and I had to forcefully remove the increasingly lustful thoughts from my mind. I reminded myself of whom I was thinking. I found myself wary of the ease with which he laid the terrible truth of one of his neighbors. Was this merely a fabrication crafted to trick me into giving him another man's title? "Could you be more specific? I am not going to take his title away with only your word to vouch."

"You wound me," Reaver said, putting his hand dramatically over his heart. His eyebrows furrowed inward, and he sighed sadly. "I have witnesses that will be able to provide you with more proof. Speak to Lady Penelope Goulding, his wife, or her sister Lady Eliza. They have both confided in me that they believed that he had planned to worm his way onto your advisory council and spread discord among your ranks."

"And just when did they confide this in you?" I asked, cocking a brow.

"Why, just the other night. When I returned from my journey, which you have failed to ask me about." He tutted softly, reminding me of my old protocol teacher. He would have scolded me for not going through all the nicities first. Even a Queen asked how one's holiday was. "They rushed to my side to...catch up." He grinned, letting me know that he did not simply enjoy a spot of tea and conversation with these two women. "I can send them to you at court, and you can interrogate them yourself, if that is what you desire." He chuckled.

I sighed. I could not imagine that Lady Penelope would sell her husband out. If he was stripped of his title, she would be on the outs, as well. She was exceedingly younger than he was, so it could be assumed that she had married him mainly for his title and riches. "I will have a word with both women, as well as the Duke."

"Splendid," He said. "Then I am sure I will be enjoying the title soon enough."

I exhaled. "Why do you want this so badly, Reaver? You had only just said that you liked being in your position."

"I do," He said. "But I also enjoy adventure, the act of experiencing something new with extreme vigor. I have acted like nobility, despite the fact that I am not highbourne. I already own Millfields, Your Majesty. Why not make it official?"

I knew I would get no relief until I gave into him. If Goulding proved to be as Reaver had described him, I would do this. It would be much simpler than finding another candidate for the position because, as Reaver had mentioned, he was childless. I nodded gently, looking back up to Reaver through my lashes.

His dashing grin spread wider, and he nodded in reply, silently showing his satisfaction with my surrender. "Now, if you would only work to please me in more _physical _ways..." He leaned in, his breath caressing the side of my face. "I would find myself most content."

I found myself drawn inward, toward him. My heart thudded desperately. I wasn't sure if I would be able to resist. This had caught me off guard, but I had hoped I wouldn't be put to the test. If I did this, I knew I would likely regret it, but I hadn't noticed how absolutely alluring he smelled until he'd gotten this close. My hand moved up to rest on his shoulder, and I licked my bottom lip softly as his hands moved up my bodice as they had before. My eyes fell closed as one of his hands retreated from the neckline of my dress to push my hair to the side.

"I have always wondered what it would be like to kiss those plump rosy lips of yours," He whispered, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb, sending a prickle of thrill across my nerves. "So soft, but I am sure they know precisely the right way to make a man quiver."

Even knowing it was coming, his kiss surprised me. His lips felt too soft to be real, and he tasted of wine and pure heat. Lights flashed through my eyelids, and a rumble told me that it was thunder and not just the kiss. I worked my mouth desperaely against his, suddenly feeling full of life and and light and heat and passion. I needed this, and he'd known. His hands were urging me backward onto the cushion of the sofa.

My hand traced the curve of his jaw, and I felt his hips grind against against me. He was already thick with need, as was evident through is trousers, but he still kissed me like he would never stop. He slipped a hand beneath me, arching my body against his.

I drew away, starved for breath, and his tireless lips moved immediately to my neck. A soft moan of delight left my open mouth as he nipped and suckled my the erogenous flesh of my throat. He lowered my body back into the velvet softness of the couch. He drew back to observe me, his dark eyes penetrating mine. He took my hand from his shoulder, and he chuckled, "I realize that my fine broad shoulders are quite enamoring, but you do not have to be afraid to touch me." He took my hand, stroking my palm tenderly. He brought it to his face, letting my fingertips caress his lips. He then moved it down his chin, against his throat, and across the silk of his cravat.

He leaned back down, leaving the faintest trail of kisses up my jaw, toward my ear. He whispered, "Your hands are almost as soft as your lips, but I wonder where else they would be put to good use..." His hand tugged my down, wrapping my hand around the hardness that strained against the tight fabric of his trousers.

I jerked my hand away, and I shoved him back, my body mourning the distance I'd put between us. I stood up, and I took a few steps out of his reach, my legs seemingly made of jelly. I exhaled shakily, and I felt the heat in my body coursing even harder now, needing relief. "That is too far, Reaver," My mouth said, but my body disagreed.

"Oh, sweet little thing," He said darkly, his voice both sweet and sinister all at once. "You cannot possibly believe that I would let you leave me with merely a kiss."  
"I _will_ be leaving you with merely a kiss," I said, turning to find the door.

"My door is always open to you, Your Majesty," Reaver said, and when I glanced backward, he continued. "If you should find that the night is too cold in Bowerstone, my bed will be warm and waiting for you." He stood, and he adjusted the lengthy endowment in his trousers, perhaps in an attempt to make me look.

I kept my eyes fixed on his, and when he loomed closer, I pressed closer to the door.

His hand reached out, finding the knob, and he turned it himself, opening the door for me. His body was close to mine, almost trying to occupy the same space as I did. "I had hoped that we might finish our lunch before you left, but as the weather will not be getting any more forgiving,it would be better if you left."

He'd just kissed me like all he'd ever wanted to do was kiss me, and now he was ushering me from his house? I blinked gently in confusion, but I found myself ready to leave. I looked to my guards, and I said, "Make sure the carriage is ready."

**A/N: I would like to give a HUGE thank you to Angelacm, as she helped me with a few of the funnier lines in the chapter, as well as giving me the idea for poor, poor Murphy. Reviews are ALWAYS welcome and appreciated, and I hope that you continue to read and enjoy. **


	3. Burn

**-Chapter Three-**

I found myself unable to shake the near intoxication that Reaver's kiss had brought on. My body was in a frenzy even hours later. It was dark, but I chose not to eat supper. I remained holed up in my bedroom for the rest of the evening, trying to read a book but unable to focus. When I wasn't thinking of Reaver, I was thinking of Walter and the people lost to The Crawler. When my hand-maidens prepared my bath, I was relieved. It would hopefully prove to be a proper distraction from my thoughts..

I sunk into the hot water, and I sighed. A sort of relief washed through me, and I leaned back into the large, luxurious tub, submerging myself in the silence in the water. I closed my eyes, holding my breath and trying to focus on nothing but the feeling of the quiet. I realized that the entire time I was with Reaver, my mind didn't stray to the dark places it did when I was alone. I didn't once think of Walter or Logan or Elliot. I was thoroughly distracted. Perhaps I'd needed that. I let myself resurface, and I pulled in a deep, calming breath.

I took a sponge to my neck, but it only ignited thoughts of Reaver's mouth as the water trailed across my skin. I moved the sponge to wash the rest of my body in a hurry. A long bath had been my dream earlier, but now I felt trapped in my thoughts within the water, now. I discarded the sponge when I was satisfied that I was clean all over. I soaked, trying to meditate, as Kalin had once demonstrated to me. I focused on my breathing and nothing else, but the moment Reaver crossed my mind, my breath increased, and I found myself raising from the tub.

I squeezed the water from my hair, and I dried my body quickly with a towel. I moved to dry my hair next, and I hurried toward my wardrobe. I found that instead of a nightgown, I was gripping at a simple white dress. The material was thinner than it should have been for such a chilly night, but the rest of my dresses were too fine to simply be taken off as soon as I arrived... Perhaps he'd catch the subtle joke in my choice of dress. No black. Only white. I threw it on the bed, and I pulled my undergarments on in a hurry.

My impulses surged, and I steadied myself. Was I truly going to go through with this? Going there of my own accord would not be falling prey to his charm and talented mouth. I would be the one fully accountable for my actions.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts, and I heard my lady-in-waiting, Constance enter the room. Her long curling black hair was swept out of her face, putting her pretty, angular face on display. "Your Majesty, are you leaving?"

I cleared my throat. "I am, but no one must know."

A soft smile pulled at her lips, and she asked, "Shall I stay in the room for the night to make sure no one comes?" She hurried toward the bed to take a hold of the dress, inspecting it for a moment..

"Yes," I confirmed with a soft nod. "Thank you, Constance."

"Sneaking off in the middle of the night in all white? Are you eloping, Your Majesty?" She chuckled as she eased me into the thing. She made quick work of the buttons and tied the sash firmly around my waist.

"No," I almost laughed. "Not at all."

"I wonder then, who you are hurrying off to meet up with at such a late hour," She pondered aloud. "Ben Finn has always seemed to carry a torch..."

"For Page, who doesn't know he exists," I told her. "He left for Samarkand shortly after Walter's funeral.." I had hoped he would have waited at least a few weeks before going off to conquer all of the adventures the world had to offer. He was my one remaining friend that seemed to want nothing from me but companionship and someone to drink with. Perhaps he was dealing with his feelings over losing both Swift and Walter in such close succession.

"I see," She said. "So you're just popping out for..."

"For a quick visit," I said. "I will be back tonight."

"You'll be needing a cloak," Constance informed me, hurrying to fetch one. It was a deep sapphire blue, but it didn't look as if it would do much to protect from the rain. Though, hopefully, it wouldn't need to. I was comfortable enough with my teleportation skill that I was sure I would be able to land directly on Reaver's doorstep. I would probably not even get a single drop of rain on me.

* * *

I had miscalculated my teleportation by a few hundred meters. I ended up near the gates of Reaver's mansion rather than on the front step, and I had to grab the hem of my dress and run for the door. The water was icy and my skin stung from the harshness of the wind. I sloshed through a great deal of puddles, running toward my goal. My dress was probably ruined and stained with mud.

As I hurried up the stairs, I paused to survey the damage done to my cloak and dress. The cloak was sodden, having protected me from none of the rain, and I whipped it off of myself, to see that my dress had fared no better. The white gossamer fabric had gone nearly transparent from the wetness, and I cursed softly under my breath. My hair stuck against my face, As another gust of wind swept across me, I felt goosebumps raise all over. I folded my cloak over one arm, and I raised a trembling hand to the door, reaching for the knocker.

Before I could finish knocking, the door opened, and Murphy's face lit up with shock. His hesitant eyes trailed downward and his face reddened dramatically. He pulled the door fully open, and he stepped to the side, ushering me within. "Y-your Majesty! Come in! R-r-right away!" He took my cloak from me as I stepped across the threshold, and he continued on, "I will fetch Master R-reaver at once."

"No need," Reaver said grandly from the top of the stairs. He had one hand on his hip, and a smile in his eyes. He descended, dressed in only a fine black shirt and matching trousers. He wore shiny black boots, even at such a late hour, but I supposed I didn't believe he would putter around the house at all hours unless his feet were covered. Gods forbid they touch the bare floor... "Go on, Murphy. You are dismissed."

Murphy bowed in my direction before scampering off to see that my cloak was properly stowed, undoubtedly.

As he approached me, Reaver's eyes trailed all over my body, and he seemed pleased with the translucence of my dress. He cupped my face with one hand, and his tongue clicked softly. "You are positively frozen, Your Majesty." His hand felt so hot in contrast to the iciness of my skin. His other hand found the small of my back, where it worked at untying the sash of my dress. "I am shocked to see you in such a state. I had hoped to see you wet with desire for me, not the pouring rain." His eyes darkened with lust. "Though, I believe I can be satisfied with you as you are." He took my mouth with a ferocity that I hadn't anticipated, burning away all of the dark thoughts that had consumed me earlier.

My stomach leapt upward, and I stepped into the radiating warmth of his body. I reached to grab a fistful of the fabric of his shirt, pulling him tighter against my mouth. I felt his hands moving slowly up my spine and to the first of the buttons that fastened my dress.

"Reaver, what are you-?" I asked as I pulled forcefully away from his kiss. I glanced around, not sure if any servants were present to see.

"Hush, now," He said huskily. It slid off of my body easily, hitting the ground with a soft wet noise. "No one would dare to intrude when I have _specifically_ ordered them not to."

"You knew I was coming," I breathed, even my insides trembling, now.

"But of course," He said, running a finger across my shoulder. "I am no fool, Keira."

I raised my eyebrow at his informality as his hand dipped down to the buttons lining down the front of my chemise.

"Oh, I have no intention of getting tangled up in protocol right now," He said. "I do, however, have _every_ intention of having you in more ways than you could possibly fathom." He slid the chemise away from my body, baring my breasts fully to him. His eyes lit up with desire, and he chuckled softly to himself. "The cold _does_ such amazing things to the female form, does it not?" He cupped my breast with his warm hand, brushing his thumb across the already stiffened peak. He kissed my mouth once more, his hands leaving a blooming warmth as he explored my skin, starting a slow fire within me. He parted from me, and he spun me to face away from him. His arms looped around me, pressing me back against him. His mouth worked diligently at the side of my neck, the hot, moist pressure of his tongue against my flesh causing it to gather up into goosebumps once more.

I gulped hard, and I took another look around the foyer before looping my thumbs beneath the cold fabric of my underthings. I pushed them off of my body and I heard him inhale sharply at my boldness.

He twirled me to face him once more, obviously feeling the need to take me in completely. His mouth fell open, as if to remark, while his eyes trailed across my bare form. His fingers trailed across the blossom of will-lines that spiraled outward just below my breasts, at the core of me. They activated in a faint blue glow at his touch. He gauged my reaction as his fingers delved further down seeking the only warmth of my body.

"Must it be right here?" I asked, but my breath left me as he trailed a finger down the heated apex of my thighs. My legs betrayed me as he stroked my long-neglected womanhood, but he slipped an arm around my melting body, supporting me, feeling me.

"I suppose a change in venue would be appropriate," He sighed,. "Though, I would not mind having you right here." His eyes drifted down to the polished black and white marble of the floor, but he withdrew his hand from between my legs. He gathered me up in his arms, much to my surprise, and his eyes glanced around, as if he were not sure where he'd like to go. He took the stairs with great speed, an impatient edge to his movements. He pushed a cracked door open, and we burst forth into a bedroom.

It was his, for sure, as it was decorated with more paintings of his chiseled visage, but I didn't have much time to observe, for he deposited me roughly on the blood-red duvet of his bed. I pushed myself to a seated position as I ran a hand through my damp, gnarled hair.

He was unbuttoning his shirt, and when he slipped it off of his body, I nearly gasped. His skin was sheer alabaster perfection. Every muscle was toned and taut, and he was mostly hairless save for a faint trail that disappeared beneath his trousers. He pushed me back into the soft duvet, and he was on top of me in an instant, the hard heat of his body pressed against the coolness of my soft curves. His fingers swirled and explored my breasts, hips and thighs as he licked and nipped at the hollow of my throat and toward my collarbone.

"Ah, my little _croquette_," He sighed. "_You are delicious, _and I have yet to reach some of the best parts."

I finally felt my coldness being replaced with warmth as he trailed his lips across the valley of my breasts, taking time to suck the peak of each into his mouth. His eyes raised up to meet with mine, and the sheer intensity of his glare made my stomach flutter. I couldn't find the words to either encourage or discourage him. I was speechless as he suddenly dipped much lower meeting with the wetness between my thighs. I gasped, and my stomach gathered up in a bundle of anxiety.

His fingers gripped greedily at my hips, driving them upward to meet his mouth, and I felt a ragged groan escape me. All of my muscles tensed in anticipation as he devoured me ravenously, nearly ruthlessly. A swelling pleasure built within me, and I sucked in a hurried breath of air. This was not something I had anticipated, and I tangled my fingers in his hair, almost trying to pull him away. I was almost afraid of letting go, giving into him, though that was what my intention had originally been, wasn't it ? He did not relent, but my struggle only drove him onward. His tongue was indeed as talented as he had earlier boasted, for I came undone with only a few more moment's effort on his part. A hoarse cry of completion erupted from me as heat flooded my body, and I trembled as I arched into him.

He moved faster than I, in my hazy state of reverie, could perceive, and his mouth claimed mine in a long, drugging kiss. He stroked my throbbing core for a few moments, sending overwhelming, nearly painful pleasure through me. He removed his hand before he slid it beneath me, pulling me to him, nearly crushing me with strength I hadn't known he possessed. The taste of my own desire on his mouth was bold and shocking, but I melted against him. I raised my hands to grasp the sides of his face, a hot, hungry noise pushing from my lungs.

His lips parted from mine as he caught his breath, and he let me fall back into the feather mattress. He rose from the bed with a grace and fluidity that I would not have expected from anyone but him, and he searched through a drawer. When he retrieved what he sought, his eyes turned back to me. He said nothing; he merely smirked.

Before I could move or speak, he thoroughly distracted me by swiftly taking down his trousers along with whatever undergarments he might have worn. His impressive manhood sprang into view, and my jaw very nearly dropped in shock. It made the only other I'd seen almost insignificant in comparison. I'd heard stories, yes, but I would never have imagined that they were so very true.

"What's the matter, my pet?" He asked, gripping himself and unrolling a condom down his hard length. "Are you intimidated?" His trademark grin was spread across his luscious mouth.

I sucked up my courage, and I shook my head. I'd faced balverines and highwaymen, and I was sure I would be up to this challenge. If his mouth had been that skilled, I could only imagine the fabled legend of his skill with his manhood were true. I gave him a smirk to match his own, and I beckoned him forth by curling my finger.

He crawled across the bed, placing himself between my thighs, and he pressed himself against the slickness of my entrance. His gaze held my face, most likely watching for my reaction as he guided himself within me, almost taking my breath away. As his thickness stretched and filled me completely, a thrilled, enraptured expression crept across his features, and he groaned, "I would never have imagined that you would be so very _hot_." He thrust experimentally into me once more, and he sighed, tacking on, "And tight." He groaned, driving into me with a bit more force and speed. His breathing was steady and practiced, but his body moved vigorously within me.

I lifted my hips to meet his every thrust, the sensation sending a ripple of toe-curling gratification through me. "More," I found myself moaning against his throat as I placed a few needy kisses there. The feel of him inside of me was dizzying, but addictive. I had never felt such euphoria, and I wanted much, much more.

He slowed, and he withdrew, his eyes full of a sinister glint. He sat back, and his hand trailed down my front, teasing slowly and agonizingly. He pulled me to my knees to join him, and he placed a soft kiss across my lips before spinning me about and sending me to my hands and knees before him. "This view is nearly as pleasing as the front," He said, his fingers trailing down to cup my rear.

I watched over my shoulder as he took a hold of me and drove into me from behind. The feeling was breathtaking—much more intense than before. I felt a hot flush spread across my cheeks, and I pulled in a sharp breath as he slid a hand up my spine, then back down.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asked, following each word with a sharp buck of his hips.

My hands gathered up the fabric of the bedspread, and my eyes fluttered shut. I nodded, already panting for breath and trembling due to the tight friction that my position created around him. As he stroked a newly discovered erogenous zone within me, I could feel another build-up of nerves and pleasure budding rapidly inside of me.

Somehow sensing my closeness, he moved a hand to cup my sex, caressing his palm against the sensitive nub of flesh that lay within. It was nearly too much, but I didn't dare ask him to stop. I cried out loudly as my passion crested in a dizzying explosion of feeling. My thighs clenched, and I let out a wavering moan of his name. As the rush of feeling subsided, my body sagged, and I nearly collapsed into the mattress.

He pulled from inside of me to let me ease down into the softness of his bed. His fingers danced down my back, sending sharp pulses of tingling through the aftermath of the ferocious orgasm he'd just inflicted on me. "Oh, Keira, my sweet," He tutted, his fingers tapping on the curve of my behind. "Do not tell me that you are already spent."

I rolled myself onto my back, and my eyes surveyed him. A flush had spread through his body, and my keen eye detected his pulse jumping against his throat. My chest heaved up and down, but my body still craved his. I pushed up to my knees, and I moved toward him, looping one arm around his neck, and I said, "I merely needed to catch my breath." I wrapped my hand around the thick, rigid protrusion between us. As I pressed searing kisses against his jawline, I stroked him once, then again before releasing him.

"Well, then," He said, backing away to almost dive into the pillows. He rolled onto his back, and his eyes seemed to darken with erotic heat as he glanced deliberately down towards his straining member. "There's no need to be shy. Come along." His mouth set into a tempting half-smirk.

I threw a leg over him, and I straddled his hips, my slickness rubbing his hardness. I eased my hips back and forth, enjoying the friction, but he was impatient. He gripped himself in one hand and urged my hips forward with the other.

I sank down onto him, and I heard a moan rumble deep in his chest. He helped me forge a cadence of our bodies, and his hands moved to grip my rear possessively, driving me harder against him as he thrust upward into me.

I couldn't keep track of how long we remained like this, moving furiously against one another, but my body gave into at least three more shuddering, hot orgasms before Reaver's magnificent body began to quiver beneath me. He tugged me downward, changing the angle of our bond slightly, and he gasped in approval. His eyes flicked between our working bodies and my face as an uninhibited cry of release burst from him. His face tensed, and his grip on my body tightened as he climaxed.

The intensity of his touch and the hot sound of his release pushed me over the edge I had been teetering on, and I leaned closer to him, my breasts brushing his chest as I finished the both of us off with a few final movements of my hips. When his arms fell slack onto the bed, I stilled myself, then pulled away from him, eliciting a soft hiss of half-pleasure from Reaver as we parted.

I fell into the velvety duvet, and I drew in a deep, quaking breath. The exhaustion set in nearly immediately, and I remembered that I still had not slept since Walter's funeral. I tried to keep my sagging eyes open, and I pushed the hair from my face.

Reaver stirred beside me, and I glanced to see him. He had turned onto his side, resting his head casually in one hand, taking me in. "You truly _are _a magnificent creature, Your Majesty."

"So it's 'Your Majesty' once more, is it?" I questioned, turning on my side as well.

"Well, it does have a nice ring to it," Reaver noted. "I would relish such a title if one were to be bestowed upon me." His eyebrows shot up and down, letting me know that he was referencing our discussion from earlier in the day.

"A duke is referred to as 'Your Grace.' Not 'Your Majesty,' Reaver," I told him.

"Ah, yes," He sighed. "Well, one cannot dwell on misfortune such as that."

"You have not yet even received the title, and you're already displeased with it?" I laughed.

"Displeased, no," He said. "Unsatisfied, yes."

"That makes very nearly no sense, Reaver," I said, furrowing my brow at him.

"You will see," He said, grinning. "All in good time."

"I do not know what that means, but I am sure I will not like it," I sighed, knowing that he would not reveal his hand until he was ready. I eased myself into a sitting position, and I turned to set my feet on the cool floor beside the bed. I stood, stretching softly.

"Where do you think you are going?" He asked, suddenly behind me, tugging me backward to sit on the bed once more and pressing his chest against my back. He pulled my hair away from my neck, and he stroked the flesh tenderly with his slender fingers.

"I cannot sleep here, Reaver," I said, my eyes turning back to him over my shoulder.

"Oh, I had no intention of sleeping any time soon, _ma cherie_," He purred, his hand dipping down to cup one of my breasts suggestively while his other arm locked around my waist.

"It is late," I protested. "I am exhausted."

"If you are able to stand, then I have not properly done my duty," He bubbled with mirth as he nipped lightly at my shoulder. "Most women mewl and whine when I ask them to leave, yet here you are, leaving of your own accord."

"I am not most women, Reaver," I said matter-of-factly. I pulled his arms from around me, and I stood once more, though I nearly regretted it. I _was_ sore, and I knew that I would be even more tender in the morning. I bent to grab his shirt, and I looked back to him as I pulled it on.

"You realize that is my favorite," Reaver said, his eyebrows slanting downward in a look of extreme displeasure.

"Is it?" I asked, buttoning it down my body. It covered all of the necessary bits, and I was confidant that I would be able to teleport into my room with extreme accuracy. I ran my finger across the embroidered logo of Reaver's factories just over the breast, and I shrugged softly.

"I will have to retrieve it from you one day," He said, standing to walk around me, displaying his nudity proudly. "Though, I must admit that it looks rather striking on you." He grabbed my hand, twirling me to face him. "Stay, and I will see to it that you have proper clothes in the morning." He laughed. "I will also see to it that you enjoy yourself even more than you already have..._numerous_ times."

"I think not, Reaver," I said. I pressed my lips together, but I couldn't restrain a smile. The fact that he was requesting for me to stay must have been a sign that I was a better lover than the countless others he could surely call upon at such an hour. "I have much I need to do, as per your request, and I need to sleep in my own bed."

His lips turned downward, and he sighed. "I suppose I will not force you to stay, though, I can certainly try to persuade you." His fingers drifted up the bottom of his shirt, laying a blazing trail up the back of my thigh, sending a shudder up my spine. "I am not nearly finished with you," He leaned down to whisper against my ear. Though his voice inspired my desire to burn once more within me, I shook my head. This was a man that was not used to hearing the word 'no' when it came to matters of the bedroom. He stroked my chin, his eyes growing more and more impatient.

I stepped from his reach, and I shook my head again. "Not tonight, Reaver."

He put his hands on his hips, his lips pursed angrily. "So be it, Your Majesty. I do hope that you enjoy your _cold, empty_ bed."

The last thing I saw before I teleported was his pouting, angry face, and I almost laughed. The man could throw a tantrum. When I rematerialized in my bedchambers, I saw that Constance had remained in the room, as she'd promised. She'd fallen asleep in one of the wing back chairs in set before the fireplace with Angus at her feet. She looked peaceful, but she woke quickly once I took a step. She woke quickly, springing to her feet, and thoroughly disturbing Angus from his peaceful rest.

"Your Majesty, She said quickly as she strode toward the wardrobe, briefly glancing at the shirt that I wore. She grinned from ear to ear as she fetched my sleeping gown.

I unbuttoned Reaver's shirt, and she pulled it from my shoulders before sliding my nightgown onto my body. I pulled my arms through the sleeves, and I saw her holding the fine black material of Reaver's shirt in her hand.

"Should I, ah...have this returned to its owner?" She asked, her hand tracing across the emblem on the breast, now knowing for sure who I had been with.

I shook my head as I approached her, taking the garment. "I'll return it personally."

"Oh, I see," She said with a grin.

"Good night, Constance," I said with a short nod, dismissing her.

She curtsied deeply, and she returned with, "Good night, Your Majesty." She exited the room swiftly, her little body sliding through the narrowly cracked door.

I glanced back down to Reaver's shirt in my hand, and I rubbed the soft fabric. I moved across the room to stow it in the back of my wardrobe. The smell of him rolled into the air as I shook it out, making my body ache with regret that I had returned home. I hung it on an empty hanger, and I closed the doors.

I moved about the room, lowering the light on my lamps before finding my way into bed. Angus hopped into his spot in the bed beside me, and he gave me a sleepy, questioning look. "It's a long story," I sighed. "One that your little doggy mind probably would not comprehend."  
He snorted before closing his eyes and settling in close to me, throwing a paw protectively over my heart.

I could only smile as I stroked his head. My mind was clear, and I knew that, at last, I would sleep.

**A/N: Alright, so I hope you enjoyed this one as much as I enjoyed writing it! I'd like to personally thank my reviewers so far: Wendy17, Fellow Fable Fan, Angelacm, and .Snake! Thanks for letting me know what you though! I really appreciate the feedback! **


	4. The Warmth

-Chapter Four-

**-Reaver-**

The moment she disappeared into nothingness, I sighed, my hands falling from my hips. The Queen had proved to be a great distraction from the documents I had been preparing to give that Page-woman what she needed to start out as my liaison to the workers. She was sure to be amusing to break under my command. She seemed the type that would fight me at every opportunity, and that excited me. I did like a good struggle for power now and then—so long as I came out victorious.

The rest of the night would most likely prove to be boring, as many of my nights had become since my return from Wraithmarsh. I had rather hoped that my newly-restored vigor and youthfulness would draw people in like flies to honey, but perhaps that was hoping too much of the simpletons I surrounded myself with. Murphy was good fun in a pinch, but he was still rather meek and timid. I would draw him out eventually. His adorable little stammer had been what had drawn me to him in the first place. It made the manner in which I spoke flawless in comparison, though not many in Albion were as well spoken nor were they as gifted as I was. I had been blessed with stunning good looks as well as a commanding and eloquent voice. One could call it 'the luck of the draw.'

Another that had been so very fortunate in all manners of being was The Queen, and she seemed to have no idea. She had been born beautiful, and she had been taught to be graceful and well spoken. Her mother had been a beauty, yes, but she was unrefined, wild, and _common_. Her spirit persisted through all, and she emerged triumphant, as people like her always did. She was also terribly boring and let her morality guide her course of actions far too closely. Her one demonstration of self-preservation in Wraithmarsh had been her only step onto my side of that fine gray line. I had hoped she would prove to be more of a complex being, but I was sorely disappointed.

Her daughter, on the other hand, The Queen—_Keira_...Now, she was a puzzle to be solved. She moved through Albion like wildfire, dispatching evil-doers and gathering loyal followers in her wake. On my first encounter with her after she'd fled the castle, she was all purity and light and utterly boring—like her mother. I was heartily disappointed. Though, I still would not have thrown such a youthful beauty out of my bed had she chosen to accept my offer that night. I would have taken my fill of her and been done with it, but now...

She was different. She had condemned her brother to death, shocking even _me_. That twist of darkness struck a cord with my own sombrous inclinations. Though her later decisions had proven to be in favor of the people, that inky cloud of doubt and corruption hung like a tangible thing over her, changing her, molding her into something else. Something better suited to my tastes.

I could not explain my draw to her. Nothing like it had ever taken hold of me in such a way. Lust for power, yes. Lust for the warm bodies of men and women alike, yes. But lust for a singular woman? Unheard of. Perhaps I had gone mad in my centuries of existence. Perhaps it was the heroic flourish in my blood singing to merge with the similar legacy in hers. She was a descendant of William Black. The epitome of heroic potential lived within her, yet she had barely even scratched the surface. Something primal in me wanted to posses her, bend her, make her in my image. This was not love. It could never be love, but it could be _fun_.

A shuffling of feet passed by my quarters, and I strode to the door, throwing it open. I'd had a discussion with my people about picking up their feet when they walked. The soles of their shoes grating against the fine floors of my home made the most unpleasant noise. Having such keen senses proved to be terrible burden, at times.

It was Murphy, my poor Barry Hatch's newest replacement. I had run through young men like tissue-paper in the past year. I'd had this boy for a little over a month now, yet he still seemed so slow to learn. The Queen, having met him now, would surely notice his absence if I put him down as I had his predecessors. I would have to endure his flaws and little faults.

I cleared my throat, my hands once again finding their way to my hips. I tilted my head and arched a brow at his back, waiting for him to acknowledge my summon.

"M-m-master Reaver!" He stumbled over his words. He whipped around, his own feet getting in his way. He tumbled forward, but his handsome face remained fixed on me. The color of his eyes was striking, and his lips were so very soft and petal-like. I momentarily cursed my shallow tastes, for I had trapped myself with the most beautiful, inept manservant.

I heaved a breath and I stepped forward, setting him to rights. His height could not compare to my stature, so I had to look down my nose to observe his reaction. "What have I told you about dragging your feet like an ape, Murphy?" I held him by the shoulders, my fingers squeezing the soft, unpracticed flesh beneath. He required much work, but he also had much potential. A few more months in my employ would undoubtedly ripen him to as near to perfection as he would ever get.

"Th-that only lower-class riff-raff and those th-that serve lower-class riff-raff d-do it?" He asked, his eyes trying so very hard to stay fixed on my face, but they drifted downward to my nudity in the end. His face turned an irresistible shade of pink.

"Precisely," I said steadily, my voice taking on a dangerous, low rumble. "And are you serving lower-class riff-raff?"

"N-no sir," He bumbled, shaking his head.

I moved a hand to grasp his softly squared jaw with a ferocious tightness, and I caught his deep bronze gaze. "Do not let me catch you again, do you hear, boy?"

"Yes, s-s-s-sir." His breath was hot and quivering, and his face was full of fear. It stirred the insatiable hunger within me.

"Do you promise to remember this conversation or must I strike you to burn it into that pathetic little brain of yours?" I growled tempestuously, my face moving closer.

"I-I..." His eyes flashed with restrained excitement.

My hand collided with the side of his face firmly enough to prove the point, yet too gentle to leave a mark. I preferred to keep the faces pretty, and I had much more imaginative thoughts as to where else I could leave a mark.

His eyes rolled, and his body was unsure whether to enjoy my touch or reject it. He swayed gently, and his lips parted. He had settled on enjoyment, I saw, and his eyes focused once more on my face, sure not to look me directly in the eye. "D-do you require anything m-more of me, sir?"

A dark grin spread across my lips, and I nodded. "Oh, yes, Murphy. I require much, _much _more of you."

* * *

**-Keira-**

I slept through the night without a single dark thought. My dreams were sweet and warm and soft and inviting. I opened my eyes, and I felt totally refreshed. It wasn't until I moved to stand that I was pulled from my hazy, dreamlike state. My muscles were sore, but I was recovering. I could only imagine what a night like the last would have been like before my Heroic constitution was unlocked. I pushed free from the bed, and I stretched my muscles before glancing back to Angus, who still slept deeply in his place beneath the covers.

I walked toward the balcony door, peeking at the crack between the curtains. The day was still gray, but the rain had stopped. I was thankful for that because I had hoped for a little time outside of the castle walls. If my schedule allowed, I would take a regiment of guards and visit The Old Quarter to check on its progress. If it didn't, I would have to have a word with Constance about repeating her duties from the night before. I did not care if I were accompanied or not, I needed time away.

I dressed myself, deciding it would be better to summon Page to me as soon as possible. I would also, in the coming days, need to investigate Reaver's accusation of The Duke of Millfields' intrigue and plot to plant discord among my council. I had hoped to have a stretch of peaceful days ahead of me, but I knew that was a light that was far in the distance. There were so many things that needed to be done.

I strode toward the door, and as my hand reached for the knob, someone knocked on it. I pulled the door open to find a shocked Hobson holding the tray with my morning tea, which I had taken in my room the past few days. I stepped aside to allow him into my chambers. "Just set it at the table, Hobson," I told him. "I was on my way to fetch you, actually."

"How may I assist you, Your Majesty?" He asked, almost excited at the prospect of being trusted with an actual task. Since I'd defeated The Crawler, his duties were those that could easily be carried out by a maid. I hadn't wanted to replace Jasper at all, and I supposed I was holding out hope that he would decide to abandon his duty in The Sanctuary to return to me.

"I require a meeting with Page this morning," I said. "Send for her, and ask that she come as soon as possible. I do not want this to go any further."

"May I be so bold as to inquire the 'this' to which you are referring?" Hobson asked as he strode to the table with my tea. He set the tray down delicately and his face reddened from bending down so low.

"It is personal business for Mister Reaver," I said, moving to sit down in my chair. I leaned forward, pouring myself a small cup of the piping hot tea.

"Of course, Your Majesty," he said, nodding. "If I may offer my opinion: I rather hoped that your correspondence with Mister Reaver was more personal, Your Majesty. He, despite being lowborn, would make an excellent suitor for you when the time comes for you to marry. I imagine the people of Albion will be clamoring for a royal wedding any day, now."  
I spooned a bit of sugar into my tea, and I poured the cream slowly, almost disregarding what he had just said. "You know well that a monarch cannot marry someone who is lowborn, Hobson."

"A little birdie has told me that Mister Reaver hopes to gain a title soon," He said. "It would be most well-deserved, considering how much has assisted you in the past year."

"Hobson, if I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it," I said. "And I did not—on this issue, nor on the issue of whom I should take on as a suitor. Thank you."

He pinked around the edges, and he bowed, knowing when not to push the issue with me, finally. He backed out of the room and closed the doors.

I sipped at my tea, and I leaned back into the soft comfort of my favorite chair. It had been one that was being threatened to be replaced during the renovation of the castle, but I had requested that the chair remain in my chambers. After another few draws on my tea, I could feel the warmth permeating the cool of the room, and I sighed in relief.

Once my tea was through, I moved toward the vanity, weaving a quick braid into my hair and tossing it over my shoulder and out of the way. I leaned in to see a fading red mark on the side of my neck, a signature left by Reaver the night before. It was hardly noticeable and looked like only a minor irritation. I smoothed my hand over it, suddenly thinking of how it had gotten there.

I was not sure if I wanted to repeated the actions of the night before, but the door was certainly open, I could tell. I left Reaver wanting, and that was something, from what I'd heard, that was simply _not_ done. The man was a legend in his own right. Not that I had much experience, but he was a thorough and surprisingly considerate lover. He saw to my needs in the process of fulfilling his own. Then again, one does not gain such a reputation by seeing only to his own completion.

"Angus," I said, looking back to my companion. He still lay on the bed with a lazy look in his eyes, as if he were bored of watching me dote on myself in the mirror. "Do you want to take a walk in the garden?"

In an instant, he had jumped to the ground, his tail wagging and waving all over and his tongue lolling from his open, smiling mouth. He rushed to my side, his black and white head bobbing up and down with anticipation.

"Come on, then," I said, giving him a rich, truly genuine smile. I stroked behind his ears briefly before we exited the room. The guards outside my door bade me good morning as I made my way down the hallway, and I returned their greeting. There was a noticeable change in demeanor in me, and I was sure people would notice. I could only hope that Constance would be discreet about with whom I had spent my evening.

As we exited into the garden, the brisk air brought an immediate chill. I pulled my arms in toward my body, trying to keep the warmth against me. I should have worn a coat, but I would be able to endure a little chilliness as long as it didn't rain as well. Angus trotted off in the direction of Walter's memorial statue, and the sadness that had been buried beneath my distraction surfaced once more. I followed him, and I pressed my hand against the plaque that I'd had inscribed with the words 'Forever in The Light.'

"You know, I could use you at a time like this," I said. "Page is being...well, you know how Page is, and I hate to admit it, but Reaver is probably the closest thing I have to a friend right now." My laughter caught in my throat, and I sighed. "I miss you, Walter. I hope that wherever you are, you are at peace—no longer in darkness." I stroked the plaque once more, and I felt Angus nudge against my leg, whining.

"It's okay, boy," I sighed. "I know you miss him."

"Keira," said Page breathlessly. She strode toward me, and her eyes were wide. "You summoned me, but did you forget that we'd been planning to meet this morning?"

I blinked, "I'm sorry. I did."

She laughed a little bit, and she patted my shoulder. "It's alright. I've got a lot to discuss with you."

"Maybe we should head inside to my study," I offered. I motioned toward the steps, and Page followed, keeping stride beside me. We moved swiftly inside of the castle, and warmth flooded over me. I felt slightly more confident about this discussion we were about to have. Why had I been so nervous in the first place?

She leaned, trying to inspect my face. Perhaps she was already suspicious of what I would say to her proposal. She was probably very sure that I would strike down Reaver and name her the head of the Industrial District, as I had bent to her will so many other times before.

"So, I heard that Reaver has returned from his hiding place in the country now that The Darkness has been defeated," Page said. "And I heard that he had you for lunch at his manor in Millfields. Is that true, Keira?"

"Yes," I said with a nod. "He had something to discuss with me."

"Well?"

"Page, I really can't discuss it until I know more," I said. We had reached the study, finally, and the guards opened the doors for us as we approached. Once within, the doors closed, and I motioned for Page to take a seat before the letter writing desk.

She sat, and she pulled open the satchel at her side. She pulled a small stack of parchment, and she laid it across the desk. "While you have been mourning, I have been working very hard to keep the people in Industrial happy."

"Are you saying that I've been neglectful, Page?" I asked, my body flaring with anger.

"No, no," She said, shaking her head. "I'm just stating facts. Another war has ravaged the people of this city, and they needed someone strong. A leader. And just where was Reaver?"

"I don't know," I said. "But it is not his duty to protect the people of Industrial. That is _my_ duty, and the army's duty. His duty is to run the businesses—the factories, the markets, the real estate."

Page pressed her shapely lips together. "But he should care about those people, Keira. Don't you agree?"

"Page, I'm going to be honest with you, I know what you are about to propose," I said. "And I do not believe it is in Albion's best interest to put you in charge of Bowerstone Industrial."

"What do you mean 'Albion's best interest,' Keira?" She asked. "I wouldn't mistreat the people. I wouldn't shoot at them for taking a break."

"Precisely, and that is why I am offering you an alternative," I said.

"This is ridiculous," She sighed.

I ignored her petulance, and I said, "I have spoken to Reaver, and I-"

"So this is what that little date was about, isn't it?" She asked. "He wanted to pull the rug from underneath me. Keira, you cannot let him control you. He will only manipulate you into doing what he wants."

"Like you have?" I asked, raising my brows, my anger rising once more. "I have done everything you've asked of me and more, Page. I cannot hand Industrial to you because I do not believe you would run it like Reaver can."

"Reaver has run this country into the ground!" She argued, raising her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest, and she exhaled heavily. "He is an evil man, and I don't see why you haven't put him before a firing squad!"

"My brother ran this country into the ground, and he paid the price for those crimes," I said, my stomach twisting unpleasantly. "And Reaver shows genuine interest in helping to better things, Page."

"He'll say anything to remain on top," She scoffed. "You are being foolish, Keira. You are letting him manipulate you."

I stood suddenly from my chair, my palms slamming angrily into the desk. "I am the Queen of Albion! I am not a fool, and I realize that Reaver is a manipulative man. For the moment, working with him is what everyone needs. You would never be able to do what he does. Now, you will desist your circulation of that little petition of yours, and you will do as I say, for once. I've kept so many promises to you, and you have yet to fulfill any of yours to me."

Her eyes widened, and she sank backward into her chair. She blinked a few times, and she nodded. "I was only-"

I drew in a sharp breath, and I gulped the growing lump in my throat. "Page, this is my decision, and Reaver and I have come to a compromise which will hopefully benefit all. You will become a liaison to the workers. You will keep Reaver's bad behavior in check, and you will see to it that the people's needs are met."

I could tell immediately that the idea of working directly with Reaver on a daily basis frustrated her, but she said nothing except for, "That will suffice for now."

"It will do more than suffice, Page," I said as I resumed my seat. "Your place is with the people, not running the businesses. This will be much suited to your talents, you will see."

There was a sudden knock at the door, and it cracked open. Reaver's walking stick entered the room first, followed by his long legs, and he came into view. He was dressed in an all black suit with a burgundy shirt where he would have usually worn his favored black. He swept his top hat off of his head, bowing graciously to me, and nodding curtly toward Page. "Your Majesty, I had rather hoped I would find you alone. I have brought some documents regarding some of the things we discussed yesterday."

"We are currently discussing Page's new position," I said. "This concerns you, as well, Reaver. Sit down, please."  
Reaver placed his hat on the rack by the door, and he leaned his cane against the wall nearby. As he strode over, his dark eyes fixed on Page, his mouth tightening into a line of disapproval. He grabbed the chair, scooting it a good distance away from her, as if he were afraid he would catch something. He sat, and his expression softened as he crossed one leg over the other. "I do hope that this will be brief. There is an unpleasant smell in this room, and I had hoped to have an appetite some time today."

Page made a rough, angry noise in the back of her throat, and she angled her body to face away from him while still keeping her eyes on me. "Do you truly expect me to work with him, Keira?"

"I believe _Her Majesty _has the right to do as she wishes," Reaver said, rubbing his chin. "I am not terribly thrilled with the prospect of working with you, but I suppose I could always place more potpourri around the factories to stave off the dreadful stench you bring in."

"Reaver," I chided him. I felt as if I were dealing with a pair of unruly children that had gotten into a school-yard scuffle. I folded my hands in front of me on the desk, and pressed my lips tightly together. "I realize that this is not an ideal situation for either of you, but it is what will produce results that will benefit Albion. This is not negotiable." I glanced between the two. "There is to be no violence between the two of you." I looked decidedly at Reaver for that remark. "And if I catch rumors of a coup, I will take care of matters personally." I shifted my gaze over to Page. "Am I clear?"

"Crystal clear, My Queen," Reaver said with a nod. His mouth was fixed in an unreadable smirk. I wasn't sure if he was amused with my show of power or if he was undressing me with his mind. The way his eyes drifted all over suggested that he was pursuing the latter.

"Yes, Keira," Page said tightly.

"One would do well to remember to address your betters by their titles," Reaver injected into the silence.

Page merely ignored him, her eyes finding me once more.

I rose, and they followed suit. I stepped around the desk, and Reaver's eyes continued to drink me in. "Page, I know that after time to adjust, you will be pleased with your new position."

"We'll see," She replied.

"You know, ," Reaver said turning his eyes away from me to stare her down. "If I were you—and I thank providence daily that I am not—I would be pleased with any position in which The Queen placed me." His eyebrows bobbed up and down suggestively.

"I'm sure you would," She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are a pig, Reaver."

"Better a pig than an ungrateful little worm," Reaver spat. "You should learn your place before you come to work for me. There are many non-violent ways to make your life hell."

Page stepped forward, her fist drawn back and flying forward. I stepped between the two of them, sending a gentle push of force outward from my body. Both stumbled backward, and I raised my hands out, putting my back to Reaver and facing Page.

"That is enough, Page," I said.

"So this is who you ally yourself with?" Paged asked, her eyebrows raising and her mouth pursed in an angry little 'o'. "Be careful putting your back to him, _Your Majesty_. He's likely to stick a knife in it."

"If you remember, my little firecracker, my weapon of choice is a pistol," Reaver's voice said steadily. When I glanced back to him, I saw that he had put his hands on his hips, pushing his coat away. His pair of Dragonstompers glittered even in the soft interior light. Having one of the legendary guns was a feat in itself, but it was rumored that Reaver possessed all but the one that lay safely in my armory. Now, he was displaying them as a threat.

"That is enough," I seethed. "From both of you. Page, I expect you to be good to the people in Industrial, and Reaver, if I catch any word-"

"I understand, Your Majesty," Reaver said quickly.

"I hope you know what you are doing," Page said as she headed toward the door. "This could be disastrous, keeping him in charge." She strode out, closing the door with such force that a painting on the wall jiggled, threatening to fall.

I turned to Reaver, heaving a sigh. "Reaver, now what-"

His finger pressed against my lips, silencing me, and he slipped an arm around me. As he drew me close, he removed his finger only to run it down the curve of my cheek. "You left me most unsatisfied last night, my dear."

"Oh?" I questioned, raising my brows.

"Yes," He said. "That is not something that people simply _do to me_."

"Perhaps you need a little lesson in patience," I told him, though my heart was pounding in my throat.

He pulled me tight against him, and he said, "Even after I sought release in others, you continued to frustrate me." His mouth pulled up at the edges. "You made quite an impression." His lips touched briefly to mine with a searing heat. "I hope you have had your rest, for I am _positive-_-"  
A fervent knock at the door interrupted his words, and he drew away from me his eyes dark with chagrin. He reached into his breast pocket, producing what were probably the documents he'd mentioned earlier.

Hobson entered the room slowly, as if he knew that he would be interrupting a discussion or something of the sort. "Excuse me, Your Majesty, Mister Reaver, I have your schedule for the day."

"Ah, Hobson," Reaver said almost unpleasantly. "I see that your timing is impeccable, as always. The Queen and I were just discussing some business. I suppose she has time on her schedule for that, yes?"

"Well, yes, Mister Reaver, of course," Hobson said nodding. "She has nothing planned except for a sitting with the artist that is to start her portrait, and a visit from The Duke of Millfields this afternoon. It seems he has come under the assumption that someone has been spreading some awful rumors about him."

"Oh, dear," Reaver sighed, playing surprised.

"Can we reschedule my session with the painter?" I questioned him.

"I'm afraid not," Hobson said. "He has arrived early, and he has already begun to set things in order for the painting. I believe I could stall him, if that is what you wish."

I rubbed my temples. I had completely forgotten about that, as well. I ran my fingers through my hair, and I nodded. "Give me time to get dressed, and I will come as soon as I am able."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Hobson confirmed with a little nod. "Mister Reaver, am I to assume that you will be lingering around the castle for the day? I can have a meal brought to the two of you before the painter is fully prepared." His tone lowered, almost suggestively.

"I think that privacy is all we require, Mister Hobson," Reaver said. "We still have much to discuss."  
Hobson backed out of the room, a knowing smirk fixed on his mouth. I almost wanted to strike it away, but he was gone.

Reaver went to stuff the papers back into his breast pocket, but I caught them from his hand. I opened them, and I saw that they were blank. Of course. He wasn't here to discuss business. He'd wanted to continue what we had started the night before. He merely shrugged as he took the papers back from me, tossing them on the desk.

"It seems we are to discuss business now, " Reaver said, putting his hands on his hips, his back straightening. He looked like the cutthroat business man, now, and not the playful lover.

"Is there any way you could summon your...ah...witnesses of Goulding's treasonous plots?" I asked.

"I am sure that I can arrange that rather quickly," Reaver said, but he then laughed. "I can only imagine the look on the man's face when he realizes his own wife has betrayed him."

I was not looking forward to this at all. I felt tension building inside of me, and I turned to pace the room. "I can only hope that he acts with grace and dignity."

"_I_ hope he causes a scene," he said in contrast. "The man is a foul old codger, and he deserves whatever is coming to him."

"What exactly has he said, Reaver?" I asked, turning to face him. "If I am to ruin this man's life, I need to know."

"I think it would be better if you heard it from his wife," Reaver told me. "She has a hilarious impression she does of the old bat I couldn't possibly replicate it." His mirth lit up his eyes, and his smile was nearly infectious.

"I am being serious," I returned, shaking the humor away. "This man was a great favorite of my mother's, and to depose him would be to tarnish her memory. If am to do it, then I need the right reasons."

Reaver closed the distance between us, his hands seizing me by the hips "You are quite nervous, my dear. Allow me to ease some of your tension." He tilted my head back, and he leaned closer. "It is one of the many services you can expect of me when I am the Duke of Millfields." He scooped me off of my feet, wrapping my legs around his waist.

"I felt the blood pulsing in my veins, and I captured his face between my palms. My breath came in short, ragged spurts as the excitement grew within me. "Reaver, there's nowhere to..."

He strode and deposited me on the edge of my desk. "I beg to differ, dear. There are _so_ many places in this room where I could have you. This is merely the most convenient." His mouth crushed against mine, and I forgot all else except for his overpowering warmth and the heat it inspired in me.

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! I love hearing what you have to say. There is more to come soon, so follow/favorite! **


	5. Her Portrait in Black

-Chapter Five-

I gasped as Constance tugged on the laces to the corset. I'd gotten accustomed to going without one in the past few weeks, which made this chore all the more unpleasant. I groaned softly, and when Constance paused, I said, "Just get it over with. Please."

She continued to lace me inside the constrictive underclothes, and when she was finished, she patted me softly on the shoulder. Her hand was cool and comforting. "Come, Your Majesty. Let us do something with your hair."

She led me over to the vanity, where I sat stiffly before her, and she gathered up my hair in her fingers. "Your Majesty, if I may ask..." She started to comb through some of the knots and waves that had formed in the short amount of time it had been loose from its braid. "I realize that it is none of my business, but what precisely is happening with you and Mister Reaver?"

I chewed on my lip. That was a question that even I could not answer with full confidence that I wold be right. I wasn't fully sure of his intentions. "I'm not sure, Constance. He is not the most forward of men... when it comes to his intentions."

"I understand," She said as she ran her fingers soothingly through my hair. "He is, indeed, quite the mystery."

"I can only hope that, whatever it is, it doesn't affect Albion negatively," I sighed. He was vying for a title, running Bowerstone Industrial with an iron fist, and he was jeopardizing my nights and mornings. He wanted instant gratification in all aspects of life, and I wasn't sure what would happen if he found himself displeased. I had not yet experienced the ire of his full temper. I'd only ever seen glimpses of that blackness.

"I agree, Your Majesty," Constance concurred as she pulled my hair back away from my face. She deliberately let strands hang by my face in waving chestnut tendrils, but she secured my hair in an intricate braided style that would accommodate the crown I would be wearing for the portrait.

As she helped me into the large golden-yellow gown, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was swallowed whole by the garment, though it was a truly beautiful dress. It was good for portrait and ceremony, but it was very impractical for much else. I would have a difficult time moving around in it, but I expected that I would be seated or standing in one position for a good amount of time during the day.

I was adorned with golden jewelry encrusted with sapphires and rubies, representing the colors of Albion's flag, and I pulled a pair of white elbow-length gloves up on my arms. Now that I was thoroughly uncomfortable, I knew I was nearly ready. All I required was the crown, but that would need to be brought in from the safe in the treasury.

Constance and Hobson escorted me to the sitting room which had been set up for the portrait with fabrics of gold and white and a chaise lounge for me to sit on. I was thankful, for I didn't much feel like standing still for hours on end. Though, sitting still would probably prove to be equally as challenging.

The painter was a lively young man, not much older than I was, with wild ginger hair and a thin freckled face. His crystal blue eyes lit up when he saw me, and he strode across the room to bow elegantly before me. "Your Majesty, you are an absolute vision." He straightened from his bow, and he smiled widely. "I can only hope that I will be able to capture the depth of your exquisite beauty with my brush and colors."

"You are too kind," was all I could think to say.

"Your Majesty, this is Wesley Crane," Hobson introduced the pair of us. "He has done portraits for many of the nobles in Millfields, including Mister Reaver. I have heard nothing but praise regarding his work."

"It is such an honor to paint you, Your Majesty," Wesley continued on. "When I was offered the opportunity, I canceled all my other appointments. I want to devote my entire artistic attention solely on you."

The vigor with which he spoke reminded me much of Reaver. He seduced with his eyes while he smiled and charmed with his mouth. He was very good, but I had dealt with the master of such tricks. I gave him my most dazzling smile, and I folded my hands delicately before me. "I hope that I do not bore you, Mister Crane. I would hate for you to lose your inspiration because you must focus only on me."

"Perish the thought, My Queen," He said. "I am sure that we will find much to discuss as the process goes along." He escorted me toward the chaise lounge, and when I was seated, he went about walking around me and inspecting every single inch with much scrutiny. I didn't know if he was being forward or if he was simply doing his job. He held his hands out, and his eyebrows raised, "May I?" he was motioning towards my face, as if requesting to pose me.

I nodded softly, and when his hands touched me, the fingers of his hands were rough from work, but his grip was delicate as he tilted my head about, trying to find the correct angle to capture. He settled on turning me slightly to my left side, and my face turned softly toward his canvas.

"Your eyes are striking, Your Majesty," He commented. "They will be quite a challenge to capture." He beamed. "I love a challenge."

"Yes, such eyes will translate beautifully onto canvas, will they not?" said Reaver's voice as he entered the room.

I glanced backward to see that he had returned to the castle with a small dark-haired woman with skin like porcelain. I recognized her as The Duke of Brightwall's second wife, Penelope Goulding. Her eyes were like emeralds, and her mouth was thick and luscious. I hadn't officially met her, for she'd married Goulding during my time away from the castle, but she had shown her face at court once or twice in her husband's stead.

"Mister Reaver," said Wesley giving Reaver a broad grin. His eyes flicked up and down the tall industrialist, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I trust you have been well, Wesley," Reaver said in a velvet-soft voice, his mouth tugging up into a smirk.

Oh gods. The room was now full of people that Reaver had slept with, and I was one of them. I folded my hands in my lap, and I stayed in my stiff posture. I wondered how many others knew the situation. Reaver, of course—and he looked pleased as punch—but I couldn't be sure of Lady Penelope's thoughts, nor those of Wesley's. I wondered if it was obvious that Reaver and I had been intimate. I hoped not. That was something I was not yet ready for people to know. I wasn't sure if I would ever be read for people to know.

"Your Majesty," Reaver said coming to my side and kneeling down. Even as he knelt before me, I had to look up slightly to see into his eyes. "I have brought the Duchess to speak with you of what she has revealed to me."

"Thank you very much, Reaver," I said. "Though, are you sure that we can discuss such things so openly?" I glanced about to see that Penelope had taken up flirtatious conversation with Wesley, who reciprocated avidly. I returned my gaze to him once more, and I saw that he was smirking.

"I believe that those present will have no time to do much," Reaver said, his voice barely above a murmur. "If Goulding is to be here this afternoon, I believe this whole process will move along expediently." He moistened his lips slowly, deliberately. "Honestly, I can say that I trust that Wesley will be discreet, for he would never sully his chances at becoming The Queen's artist on retainer, now would he?"

I exhaled, and I closed my eyes for a moment. I couldn't be sure what Wesley would or wouldn't do. I had only just met the man. I was still rather nervous about the whole ordeal. Reaver's ministrations in the study earlier in the morning had temporarily relieved me, but I was a bundle of nerves once more.

"I must say, Your Majesty," Reaver said. "You simply look lovely in nearly every color. I have never much cared for yellow unless we are discussing _gold_, but it suits you, my little sunbeam." He whispered his term of endearment, grinning madly. He rose from his crouching position, and he moved toward the Duchess once more. "Penelope, pet, I'd like to introduce you formally to Her Majesty, Queen Keira."

She curtsied, and she said, "It is an honor, Your Majesty. I have heard so many wonderful things about you from all corners of Albion, and I have been lucky enough to have witnessed your benevolence firsthand in court."

Reaver had pulled a chair for Penelope to sit just outside of Wesley's frame. He seated her in it, and he went to fetch one of his own. He was acting like quite the gentleman, but I couldn't help but wonder for whom he showed off this behavior. Was this for my benefit or Penelope's? He took his seat, and he crossed one leg over the other, glancing back to Wesley, "I am sure The Queen is ready when you are."

Wesley nodded, and he took his place behind the easel. "Do try to stay still, Your Majesty. I will try to capture your body until your crown has been delivered. Is that alright?"

"Yes," I said. I had to look at Penelope through the corner of my eye. "Reaver has told me that you have evidence of your husband's alleged treason."

"Yes," She said, her silken voice practiced and confident. "I have documents in which he has tried to contact others nobles of Millfields with threats of ruining your reign, Your Majesty. He has actively plotted to try to overthrow Reaver from his place at the helm of Industrial because he knew that it would throw Albion into a state of disarray. He wants to make you look like an inept ruler, which I am confidant that you are _not_."

"Why didn't you come to me directly with these accusations?" I asked her. "Why did you go through Reaver?"

"Honestly, he got to you before I could, My Queen," She continued on, shooting Reaver a sideways glance. "It has only been a week since I've discovered my husband's intentions, and I thought that perhaps with the aftermath of the latest battle, you would be far too busy to receive guests or business of this sort."

"I am terribly sorry, my dear," Reaver said, patting Penelope gently on the knee. "I simply could not sit idly by while someone slandered and threatened our dear monarch in such a way."

"I fear he may have plotted more than mere slander, Your Majesty," Penelope said, her voice taking on a solemn tone. "He had some rather shady figures by the estate recently, and I believe he meant you, or those you care about, harm."  
Those I cared about. I almost scoffed at the idea. The last of my loved ones were my dog, and Jasper, who was safely tucked away in The Sanctuary. I highly doubted that a man would go through such great pains to assassinate a dog. I drew in a breath, and I gulped softly. "Do you have proof of this?"

"I do," She said. "A letter from one of the men. Would you like for me to read it aloud?"

"Please."

She cleared her throat, and she straightened, searching through her stack of incriminating documents for the proper one. "Goulding—Your gold has been well spent on guns and powder. The attempt will go through one month from this date—it was dated five days ago-" She added in. "The Queen's guards will take some time to infiltrate, but I have men that will be able to do it. -B."

"And you have waited to bring this to anyone's attention?" I asked, almost breaking my pose. "You should have taken it to The Captain of the Guard."

"I realize my mistake, Your Majesty," Penelope said sadly. "I needed time to investigate my husband's true intentions, and I thought perhaps a month would give plenty of time to investigate and then bring this to your attention. You do realize that with my husband, I too could be labeled as a traitor in the eyes of others. I did not want to bring this to you unless I was sure."

"Foolish," I found myself saying. It suddenly made sense. If Goulding had successfully had me killed, he would have been next in line for the throne, seeing as I had no children or relatives. I had no idea the man had such ambition nor a want for the throne. I clenched my jaw, but tried to soften it, not wanting Wesley to catch me as a cross and severe queen.

"Indeed," Reaver said. "I hadn't known of this bit of information. If I had, I would have taken action myself. I could not let any harm come to you, My Queen." He looked decidedly at Penelope. "Your Grace, I believe that with this development, your husband will not be granted the mercy you had hoped."

Reaver was correct. I couldn't let such crimes stand as they were. He couldn't simply be stripped of his title and put in exile. I did not relish the thought of putting an old man before a firing squad. Perhaps he could spend the rest of his years in Traitor's Keep. I would need to see the documents with my own eyes in order to make my a level-headed decision. I would need time, but it didn't seem I had much of it on this day.

"I can only hope," Penelope sighed. "I do not wish to see my poor, dear Timothy...I cannot even imagine." She put a hand over her face. She was very obviously putting on an act for my benefit. She must not have known that I knew much better than to believe her portrayal of the frantic wife. She probably had no idea that I knew the extent of her and Reaver's affiliation.

Reaver, almost rolling his eyes at her onslaught of emotion, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and he passed it to her. His eyes found mine, and he restrained the grin that threatened to spread across his mouth. It was very clear that he found the whole situation amusing. At least someone did.

Penelope dabbed her phantom tears, and she nodded, sniffing slightly. "Thank you, sir. I cannot stress how much of a comfort you have been to me in these trying times."

"If I may ask, Penelope," I said informally. "What do you hope to gain from this? As you have said, being the wife of a traitor will not reflect well on you."

"I merely wish to be of service to My Queen," She breathed softly. "That is all." She patted her cheeks gently. "I can only hope that you will show me the mercy that you may not be able to show my husband."

She had to have some sort of plan regarding her future. I almost asked, but the door creaked terribly as it opened swiftly.

"Your Majesty," said Hobson breathlessly, entering the room with my crown on a cushion. "I am terribly sorry about the delay. There was an issue in the ledger that required my immediate attention."

I wondered what that could mean. "And?"

"It has been rectified, Your Majesty," He said. "I will explain it when your company has taken their leave. I doubt this is something you wish to discuss publicly." He strode toward me, and he held the crown out to me.

I took it, and I placed it on my head. The weight of it was not as terrible as it had been when I'd first been crowned. Hobson's mention of the ledger brought more worry upon me, but I had to focus on one issue at a time. "Reaver, have you anything else to add to this?"

"My Queen, if I may, I would like to remain for the Duke's visit," Reaver said. "I do not trust that man not to harm you."

I didn't believe Timothy Goulding could harm me physically even if he wished. He was a thin, brittle-looking man, but he had sharp, wise eyes. His mind had been his greatest strength, my mother had always told me. She once said, 'Timothy Goulding does not have enemies very long. His wit puts a quick end to them.' I only wondered whose wit would ultimately outweigh the others'; Reaver's or Goulding's.

"If that is your wish," I said.

"I do not believe I will be present, Your Majesty," Penelope said, striking up more tears. "I could never bear to see my beloved husband taken away by guards or...or..." She wept openly, covering her face with Reaver's handkerchief once more. She rose, and Reaver stood as well. "If I may, Your Majesty, I think I will be leaving."

"Leave those documents," I said. "I wish to look at them myself."

She nodded, her blubbering coming to a crescendo as she forked the documents over.

"I will escort you to your carriage, Your Grace," Reaver said courteously to Penelope.

"Thank you, sir," She said, reeling in her wailing. She drew in a breath, a soft smile spreading on her face. "You are too, too kind."

"Oh, I am not sure I would use that label," Reaver chuckled. "Though, I will accept the compliment."

As the pair left the room, I felt relieved and disturbed all at once. It wasn't quite jealousy that I felt toward his relationship with Penelope Goulding. It was shock that he would involve himself with such and insufferable, blubbering woman. She was a great beauty, but that was undoubtedly the extent of her draw on men. I didn't believe he would extend his patience to her much longer. Once she'd served his purpose, he'd likely toss her aside. I was probably in for a similar fate, but at least I saw it coming. It was obvious that poor Penelope did not.

"My," Wesley sighed from behind his easel. "That was tense, Your Majesty."

I laughed softly. "It is not yet over."

"You will surely handle it beautifully," he offered, peeking around the corner, his mouth set in a reassuring smile.

I certainly hoped so.

* * *

A little over an hour after the Duchess and Reaver had left, Wesley took his first break, and so did I. I inspected each document that Penelope had produced with as much scrutiny as I could. Everything seemed legitimate. It was all so very incriminating, though I still had my doubts. I wished I had more time to deliberate, but the time was coming swiftly for the Duke's arrival.

I paced around the room, the weight and bulk of the dress not as bad as I had thought it would be. I stretched my legs, and I walked to the window, seeing that it had started to drizzle again. I sighed. I could only hope that the abysmal weather would die down, but I knew better than that. The rain would turn icy, and eventually, we would have snow. I preferred snow to rain. At least the snow covered the land in a beautiful blanket of white. Rain merely created mud. Though I doubted that those that lived well below my comfortable means held the same regard for the icy weather.

"Your Majesty," Reaver said, announcing his return. "I hope that you will pardon the delay. I was...tied up."

I could only imagine, but I didn't ask. I merely raised my eyebrows and nodded softly. The gnaw of hunger hit my stomach, and I wondered when Wesley would be through for the day. I couldn't possibly eat a meal wearing this dress. If the appointment went on much longer, I would have to skip a meal altogether. Goulding was due to arrive any time.

"You are awfully silent," Reaver said, crossing the room to join me at the window. He lowered his voice as he leaned toward me. "You are not _jealous_ of Penelope are you? The girl is beautiful, but she is not much more than that."

"Why would I be jealous?" I asked, turning toward him. I tilted my head softly to the side, trying to look demure and unknowing.

He merely gave me a smirk.

"Is she _in love_ with you?" A smile crept across my face. "She certainly basked in your attention."

"If she has not yet fallen for me, I am sure she will one day," He said, pulling a sterling cigarette case from his pocket. He offered the case out to me, but I shook my head. I'd never been fond of the things. He lit himself one, and he took a deep drag off of it. "It is inevitable."

"So that is your plan?" I asked. "You are going to assume The Duke of Millfields' life—his title, his wife, all to sire children that he couldn't? To replace his legacy with your own?"  
"Hmm," He hummed, rubbing his chin and letting the cigarette dangle from his lips. "I am not sure about all of the obligations that go with _that_ scenario, my dear."

"The marriage or the children?" I chuckled.

He merely remained silent, puffing on the cigarette a little more.

I glanced out the window once more, and I saw a large, grand carriage entering through the gates. It was most definitely Timothy Goulding's carriage, as his crest—a raven clutching a scroll—was emblazoned on the doors. I held my stomach, and I glanced to Wesley. "I'm afraid that I must attend to this duty in the throne room, Wesley. We will have to continue this another time."

"Yes, Your Majesty, of course," He said, bowing. "I will need to gather my things, but we have made great progress today. It will, one day, be a beautiful portrait of a beautiful woman."

Reaver frowned at Wesley's flirtations, but he returned his attention to me. "Do you plan to change out of that rather...sizable garment?" His eyes moved down to the massive skirt "I daresay it will not allow you to fit your most exquisite, yet hidden, _derriere_ into that throne of yours. I volunteer _my_ services in changing your apparel quickly."

"I don't believe there is time, Reaver," I said. "Grab the documents, Reaver. We will need them."

"Yes," Reaver confirmed. "I suppose we will."

I turned, hurrying across the room, trying not to trip on the massive skirts. As I passed the canvas, I glanced to Wesley's progress. The portrait had started in a series of outlines in black. I was a hollow figure—a mass of dull dark lines. I didn't quite know how quickly he would have progressed but I thought there would have been more to it than that. I returned my attention to the task at hand. I lifted the hem of my dress, walking as swiftly as I could into the hallway. A group of guards trailed quickly behind me, and Reaver caught up with ease, clutching the stack of documents.

"Are you intending to greet him?" Reaver asked, his long legs allowing him to keep up with my hurried pace without seeming strained.

"No," I said. "He will be brought before me in the throne room, like any other criminal." The words felt foreign coming out of my mouth, and the tone with which I spoke did not sound like me at all. It was cold, dark, and I could see that it brought a smile to Reaver's face.

I tried to tame the churning of my stomach. I no longer had an appetite. I was all nerves. Guards threw the doors to the throne room open as I approached. I tried to gather my thoughts. I would have to be level-headed and fair no matter what was said, no matter who was in the wrong. I could not take this lightly. He was a faithful servant of the crown for nearly 50 years. This was a delicate matter. Hopefully I would get at the root of what had caused this treachery. I approached my throne, and I stood before it, turning toward the door.

"Your Majesty," Hobson bumbled as he scurried within. "His Grace, Duke Timothy Goulding of Millfields."

I closed my eyes, and I swallowed the budding lump in my throat. _Just breathe. You can do this. You faced Logan and judged him, though that probably isn't the best example... _My breath picked up. _You will surely be able to judge some rotten old codger that obviously wants you dead. This isn't a betrayal to your mother. He's the one that's betrayed her, and you. You can do this, Keira._

No matter how much I told myself this would be okay, I knew deep down that this decision could impact the rest of my reign; the rest of my life. The people would see what The Queen of Albion does to those who betray her personally, and I did not want to be painted a tyrant like Logan or labeled a pushover. I'd bent enough to demonstrate my benevolence to my people. I had to be the balance between light and dark today. I would have to make this decision without council from anyone else. I would not let Reaver's presence influence my decision. I was sure I could do that, but I was still intimidated, to say the least.

**A/N: Okay, so I'd like to thank those who have been leaving me reviews. It's always nice to see that people are enjoying reading this as much as I have been enjoying myself while writing it. I have big plans for the upcoming chapters. I have been writing away furiously because I've been so excited to get it out. I hope you enjoyed, and as always, do not be afraid to leave me a review to let me know what you think. If you enjoy this, and you have not already favorited/followed it, please do! **


	6. The Disappearance of the Girl

-Chapter Six-

Timothy Goulding was just as I remembered him. He hadn't changed much in the years since I had seen him. His face looked sour, but his eyes were sharp like silver daggers. He had never been quite as refined as the other noblemen of Millfields, but he was easily the most powerful and well respected. He walked into the room slowly with a soft limp, and his eyes darted between Reaver and myself. His expression displayed his extreme displeasure at Reaver's presence, and he stooped into a quick bow before me. "Your Majesty," He greeted, his rough voice curt and to the point. He raised up, and he glanced back to a guard. "Can't an old man get a seat?"

The guard looked quite bewildered at being addressed in such a way, and his eyes found mine.

I nodded, and I moved back to sit on my throne. The fit was indeed tight, as Reaver had foretold, but I managed to look dignified while my excess skirts spilled out on all sides. I folded my hands into my lap, and I looked to the Duke. "You and I both know that there is a reason you requested this audience."

"Yes, I suppose we do," He said as the guard returned with a chair. He sat down in it, and he leaned back into the cushion. "Though, I am not sure why you've chosen to involve _him_." He jabbed a finger in the direction of Reaver. "He is the dirty little sod that's been perpetuating these loathsome rumors I've come to discuss."

Reaver looked as if he wanted to speak, but I raised a hand. He pressed his lips tightly together, and I sat straighter in the throne. "I would very much like to hear what you have to say, but you must allow me to speak first."

"Very well," He replied almost disrespectfully. "You're The Queen. That's your right, isn't it?"

"You would do well to watch your tone," Reaver interjected.

"Wise advice," Goulding replied. "Maybe you should do the same."

I shot Reaver a sharp look, and I bade him to silence himself without a word of my own. "The documents, please, Reaver."

"Documents?" Goulding snorted.

"Documents incriminating you," Reaver said sharply. "Proof of your treachery."

The Duke crossed his arms over his chest, and his foot tapped nearly impatiently on the floor. "Let's see 'em, then"

Reaver produced the papers, and he stepped down from his place at my right side to thrust the papers into Goulding's reach. When the other man snatched them, Reaver remained nearby, as if to be sure he wouldn't try anything. He looked down at the man with such a black look of disgust, but he stayed his twitchy hand that I could tell desperately wanted to coddle one of the Dragonstompers at his hips.

"So it looks like I'm a traitor, then," Goulding said bitterly. His laughter was dark, and he thumbed through the papers. "My seal or name is on every one of these documents. They _must_ be legitimate."

"Your own wife has stood witness against you," I said, sitting straight.

"My wife is a conniving little trollop," Goulding said. He shot a glare over to Reaver, and he raised his eyebrows. "You would know that, wouldn't you, Reaver?"

"I have no idea of what you are speaking, Your Grace," said Reaver steadily, but his eyes told a completely different story. They burned with dark humor and ill-will. He directed his gaze toward me, and he shrugged. "The man is obviously senile, Your Majesty."

"Senile, my eye," Goulding spat. "Alright, Your Majesty. What's your judgment, then? I can see that you will not see reason, for you've never been very reasonable in the past."

I was taken aback by both his statement and his disrespect. I tried to keep the shock off of my face, and I pulled in a breath. "You have the right to explain yourself."

"Oh, come, now," He chuckled. "Don't pretend to be noble, Your Majesty. You've got no honor left in you." He brought the papers back up into his view, peering at me over them. "You've killed your own blood. You let _thousands_ die when that Darkness came to Albion. You didn't stop it when you promised you would. I'd say you deserve _all _of the things contained in those documents. Maybe more."

"So you admit it," I said steadily.

"Would it make a difference if I denied my involvement?" He asked, raising a grayed brow at me. "Would you _spare me_? Let me return to my little corner of Millfields to die in peace?" He shook his head. "I don't think you would. It's obvious you've let _that _snake slither 'round your nethers." He pointed at Reaver, who said nothing, merely stood with a solemn look on his face.

"Now, that is uncalled for," I said, my anger flaring.

"It's true, then," He laughed, as my outrage had confirmed his suspicion. "What _skill_ you must have, sir...to ensnare a Queen, of all people." He narrowed his eyes at Reaver, who looked nearly baffled for reasons unknown to me. A soft smirk fixed itself on his weathered lips. "The Queen of Albion is selling herself to a wretched man." He shook his head. "Your mother would be _ashamed and disgusted_."

I rose from my throne. "You do not know anything, you old fool."

"_You _are the fool, My Queen," He said, raising from his seat. "You'll realize that one day. You are nothing more than a child with a fowl temper. Tempers get people killed, Your Majesty."

"Take him away," I seethed.

"And what are we to do, Your Majesty?" asked Gregory, the new Guard-Captain. He strode forward to take Goulding into custody.

"Come now," Goulding said. "Don't lose your nerve now, little girl." He spat in my direction, and Reaver's Dragonstomper was out before the glob of saliva even touched the hem of my dress. "You'd like people to believe you're merciful, wouldn't you? All you are is-"

"Silence him," I snapped, my pulse throbbing rapidly in my veins. I could feel heat and anger melding within me, burning a hole through patience and restraint.

Gregory put his elbow into the old man's stomach, and Goulding fell forward, gasping for breath.

"Timothy Goulding," I said through a tightly clenched jaw. "You have admitted to plotting against your Queen. You've not denied hiring mercenaries to have me killed. I hereby declare you a traitor to your Queen and the kingdom of Albion. You and your family are hereby stripped of any lands and titles you may hold. You will be executed immediately."

Even Reaver's eyes widened in shock. There was a pronounced murmur among those present, and the guards took hold of Goulding, dragging him away.

His striking steely eyes fixed directly on mine, and he was grinning. "You'll see me again in The Darkness, Your Majesty." He laughed grimly. "I look forward to seeing how the shadows will judge_ you_." He inclined his head at me, and a pair of guards moved to close the doors to the throne room as he was dragged across the threshold.

"Well, Your Majesty," Reaver said, clearing his throat. "That went..." He trailed off, obviously at a loss for words. I might have laughed at his speechlessness had I not been so furious.

"Reaver," I said quickly as I turned to look at him.

He looked up at me, his eyebrows furrowed, and he tilted his head to the side.

"Kneel," I said, pointing to the ground before me. I figured I'd get this over with before other nobles started sniffing around for a better title and lands.

He obeyed, his mouth struggling to restrain a smile. He bent his head, but his eyes fixed directly on me. His smile won the battle, but it was obscured to all but me by his deeply bowed head.

"In turning in Timothy Goulding, you have saved my life. It will not go unrewarded. I bequeath you with the title of Duke of Millfields along with the lands and wealth that go with it," I said, glancing to the scribe that scribbled every word I said. The rest of the formalities could be taken care of later. I was far too agitated for all this pomp and circumstance. "Rise, Reaver." I offered my hand, and when he took it, I tugged him roughly to his feet. "Court is dismissed."

* * *

I burst into my bedchambers, and I felt bathed in the blackness of my anger. I could almost feel myself, the girl I used to be, disappearing beneath its inky surface. My ears detected footsteps, and I whipped around to see that Reaver had dared follow me inside of my room without so much as asking permission. He closed the door behind him, and his beaming smile was a huge contrast to my scowl of discontent. My lungs struggled for breath in my anger, and I found myself huffing and puffing, trying to steady the thrumming rhythm of my heart in my head. I pulled the crown from my head and tossed it carelessly at the vanity, cracking one of the pots full of cosmetic powder, eliciting a slight wince from Reaver. He cleared the expression on his face, and it was once again a smile.

"Well, Your Majesty," Reaver said, stripping his coat off. "I must thank you, for you have certainly made my century. I have always wanted to be a bona fide nobleman, and now, thanks to you, I can boast that with great pride."

"If you are going to be here, then do something useful," I snapped. I turned away from him. "Take me out of this dress."  
"With _pleasure_, my pet," He said, stepping forward. He worked quickly to unfasten the buttons that ran down the length of my spine, and when I was free of the dress, he lifted me out of it, leaving the numerous skirts and petticoats behind. He set me down, and he asked huskily, "The corset, too, darling?"

"Yes," I said shortly, and when the laces loosened, my breath pulled easily into my lungs. When he stripped the corset away, I bent over, trying to dissuade the dizziness that threatened to take over. I felt Reaver's hand drift beneath my chemise, caressing the bare skin of my back in an attempt to soothe me. It almost grated my nerves. "Stop it."

He persisted, and he even used his other hand to stroke my hair. "There's no need to be coy, Keira. We are alone. I saw to it that no one would follow you in your dark little mood."

I whipped around, and I gripped him by his thin black tie. I tugged his face down to sit level with mine, and my voice tore out of me before I even knew what I was saying, "I don't relish the fact that I sent an old man to his death. I did what was necessary. I did-"

"You_ know_ as well as I do that is not true. You can claim duty and selflessness, but in that moment, you hated him," Reaver said, his voice low and sultry. He put a hand over mine, but he didn't remove it from his tie. "You hated that he insulted you, disrespected you. He deserved his fate, _ma petit cherie_. You gave a despicable old man a _just_ death."

"And his replacement is every bit as despicable as he was," I snorted.

"Well, I never claimed to be anything but what I am, Keira," said Reaver, drawing away. "But you trust me."

"I do not," I said.

"Oh, come now, pet," He chuckled. "Do not lie to me, and do not lie to yourself." He leaned in, his mouth touching briefly to mine. "If you did not, you would never have let me...what was it Goulding said..._slither around your nethers_?"

My hand flew angrily, but he caught it before I could strike him. He pressed his lips against my palm, and he smirked.

"Let us save the violence for another date," he said. "There has been enough anger today. Can you not simply help me celebrate my new position?" His devilish grin didn't melt my heart, as was his intention. "Perhaps with various other, more creative positions?"

I drew away from him, snatching my robe on the way. I needed air. I slipped the thick warmth of my robe around my body, and I tied the sash. I walked out onto the balcony, and I heard Reaver's footsteps following me out. I pressed myself against the railing, closing my eyes and drawing in breath from the chilled breeze that swept past.

"If it is fresh air you require, there is an abundance of it in Millfields," Reaver said as he pressed his body against mine. He wrapped his fingers around my wrist, bringing my hand to his mouth. "I plan to hastily throw a proper celebration together one of these upcoming nights. You will be my guest of honor, of course, pet."

"Pardon me if I do not feel like celebrating," I breathed, yanking my hand away. A storm of gunfire penetrated the otherwise quiet that had taken over the castle grounds, and I closed my eyes, exhaling. "It seems that you have a widow to comfort, Reaver." I turned to face him, looking up to him.

He sneered, very displeased with my dismissal. "I suppose."

"I have other business to attend to," I said. I moved to my wardrobe where I looked within. I was still itching to leave the castle, so I pulled out a thick, warm burgundy doublet, the underclothes to go with it, and a pair of brown leather leggings.

Reaver closed the balcony doors as he reentered my bedchambers. His expression had changed from a sour one to a smirk once more. "Are you going somewhere, Keira?"

"Somewhere I can sink a blade into something," I murmured. "Once this business with Hobson and the ledger is through, I do not plan to linger around the castle." After tossing my clothing onto the bed, I reached to struggle with the clasp to my necklace. My fingers trembled, unable to unfasten it. I heaved a grunt in frustration.

"Hmm..._someone _is rather antsy," Reaver cooed, reaching to remove the necklace with ease. He also took the liberty of unhooking the earrings from my lobes and leaning down to press his cheek to mine. "You know, that excess energy _could _be put to other, more pleasurable uses."

I stepped from his embrace to pull the silky chemise over my head. "Letting you have your way with me again is not going to fix this, Reaver," I said, a raw edge to my voice.

"Well, getting undressed in front of me does not exactly dissuade me, dear." As he stowed my jewelry on my vanity, his eyes were fixed squarely on my naked breasts. He moved toward me once more, persistent as ever. He cupped a breast in each of his cool hands, and a soft bubble of laughter escaped him when I closed my eyes, folding into his touch. "Things are much less complicated when I am inside of you. We both know that. It is only fire and passion and pleasure. Give in, Keira. You shan't regret it."

I opened my eyes, gently pushing him away. "I regret not throwing you out of my room as soon as you entered." I crossed my arms over my chest, obscuring his view.

"I will leave you, then, if that is what you wish," He said, an exaggerated frown fixed on his handsome features. "But allow me to leave you as you have left me in the past." He pulled my body tight against his, a hand dipping beneath my small-clothes and cupping my awakening desire. His mouth was hot against the side of my neck, and my body melted into his embrace as he sunk a digit inside of me.

I panted softly as my pulse grew more speedy, and my arms fell to my sides. I licked my lips, and I groaned softly as he withdrew his hand and stepped backward, a wicked smile set upon his features.

"Good day, Your Majesty," He said, bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking his finger into his mouth, as if licking of the remnants of a delicious meal. He turned and left the room, giving me a smirk and a heated stare over his shoulder.

When the doors closed, I sat on the bed, catching my breath and trying to calm my raging desire. I pulled the undershirt over my nudity, and I worked at pulling the leather pants up my legs, though it proved to be difficult because of my skin's heat. My doublet went on easily enough, and I pulled on a pair of knee-high leather boots. I would equip my Will gauntlets in The Sanctuary when I retrieved my weapons, and I set off to kill something.

I took my hair from its elaborate style and merely pulled it back, holding the chestnut waves out of my face with a leather band. I observed the damage I'd caused to the crown. A gem in the Guild Seal had nearly become dislodged in my anger, and I cursed under my breath. I lifted it gently, and I exited my bedroom still feeling fairly flushed.

I walked in a hurry toward the treasury, and I pushed the doors open to find Hobson with his nose buried in the ledger. "What is this problem, Hobson?"

"Well, it appears there as an accounting error that was made nearly a month ago," Hobson said nearly excitedly. "The treasury is not nearly as depleted as we once thought."

"What exactly do you mean, Hobson?" I asked, curling a brow and crossing my arms in front of my chest. I wasn't completely sure I had the patience to deal with his roundabout way of explaining things. "Be to the point."

"We are twenty-thousand gold richer than we thought," Hobson almost squealed with pleasure. "There was an error with a donation, and-"

"Twenty-thousand..." I suddenly felt my stomach drop. Twenty-thousand gold. I put a hand over my gaping mouth, and I closed my eyes. We had lost a little over five-thousand people in our struggle against The Crawler . The numbers still were not confirmed. That gold might have outfitted the army with better weapons. That gold might have bought their safety. I felt sick and dizzy and angry all at once. My anger won the inner struggle, and I balled my hands into fists.

His beady little eyes widened. "Y-Your Majesty...Please. Please do not-" He knew and feared my strength, and he had every right to. I was close to using it.

"How precisely does one lose twenty-thousand gold, Hobson?" I asked in a growl, my body trembling with my anger. "How?!"

"The donation was made with bank-notes," He croaked with fear.. "They were misplaced until recently. I b-beg..." His face purpled slightly. "I beg mercy."

"Your incompetence cost more than five-thousand people their lives," I sneered, lifting a hand, showing him the back of it, as if to strike him.

He stumbled backward, landing on his large backside. "I-I'm sorry, Your Majesty. It was not intentional."

I closed my eyes, and I exhaled. "See to it that nothing like this happens again, or it is your freedom that you will pay with."

"Yes, My Queen," He said, kowtowing and groveling. "Thank you, My Queen. You are most merciful."

I stormed out of the treasury, the rage swelling within me once more. I didn't know I could feel such black anger. Nothing could compare to the failure I felt. I'd failed to save those people as Goulding had pointed out, and their deaths were all in vain. We had the gold to save them, but it was _lost_. I nearly spun back around and fired Hobson, but I didn't know of a suitable replacement at that moment. I would need to keep him around until someone more suitable presented themselves.

I needed to let loose all this excess anger before it ate away at me, before I sank beneath the surface and disappeared in it.

* * *

The night's air was chilled and biting. I made my way through the thick, sticky mud that still had not dried from the past day's rain. I was hunting for a small band of mercenaries which I'd heard were haunting the stretch between Mourningwood and Millfields. Jasper tried to stop me from going out, but I needed time to myself, time to contemplate all that had happened in this long, hectic day.

Dealing with Page seemed like it had been weeks, months ago, but I still had to act as a buffer between Reaver and her until a proper arrangement could be made. I figured being The Queen would exempt me from this sort of pettiness between an old friend and a new lover.

Lover. The word didn't feel like it fit mine and Reaver's relationship. There was no love. There was understanding and an ease that I hadn't expected, but it was not love. I could imagine that carrying on with Reaver long-term would come easily. We would fulfill eachother's needs—though, I doubted any one person could ever sate Reaver's lust—and he would keep me from my loneliness, as I imagined I kept him from his. Perhaps I would never love. Maybe I had quashed any chance of happiness the day Elliot had made me choose those rebelling factory workers over him.

I adjusted my belt, the Dragonstomper hanging at my side bouncing against my hip. I steadied it, and I dropped my arms to my side. This was proving to be more difficult than I hoped. I thought that they would come searching for me, as I'd made my presence very apparent when I entered the area. Maybe this meant they were watching me, ready to ambush in an instant. I would be ready.

As I continued further down the winding trail, I thought briefly of Timothy Goulding. I hadn't expected him to bait me so. It was almost as if he wanted to be a martyr against me to prove the wickedness he'd been so sure of. I sucked in a breath. He wanted me to look like a tyrant. He threw his life away to prove a point. Foolish old man.

I heard the faintest snapping of a twig to my left. I could feel my anger rising like bile inside of me, and I reached a hand for my blade. I would put both my anger and cutlass to good use. I continued forward, my feet falling silently against the dirt path, but I heard more rustling to my left.

"Oi!" yelled someone from behind. So much for the possibility of an ambush. "What're you doin' 'round here?"

I spun on my heel, and I inspected the approaching man. He was dressed in the red and black altered uniform of Albion's army—the uniform of a mercenary. He had a wicked-looking scar across his left eye, leaving it a blind, milky blue.

"You gonna answer me or do I have to get violent, girlie?" He obviously did not recognize me. Any mercenary that knew my face attacked on sight. This poor man was about to suffer for that ignorance.

"I'd prefer the violence, thank you," I said lowly, drawing my sword.

"We've got a fighter!" he yelled.

Eight of his fellows leapt from the shadows, and I quickly surveyed the situation. The battlefield was tight, and that would prove to work to both of our advantages. I was heavily outnumbered , but they were grouped so tightly together that I would be sure to be able to strike at more than one of them at a time. I would also prove to be a difficult target to hit. I would have to fight wisely.

Gunfire bellowed through the woods, and a bullet just barely whizzed by my head, as I dodged out of the way. I thrust my sword forward, impaling the nearest mercenary, the first to show himself, on its blade. One down, eight to go. I drew the Dragonstomper from my hip, and I fired it at a the burliest, most muscular mercenary, who was lighting a little bomb off of his cigar. He dropped it, and he struggled to move backward.

I was faster, and I threw myself back, out of the explosion's range. It had injured him and one of his fellows, but it hadn't proved to be fatal, as I'd hoped. Another blast of gunfire, and I felt the burn of the wound in my shoulder immediately. I yelped, and I whipped myself around, the Will inside of me burning to get out. My vision was cloudy, red, and I stowed my Dragonstomper to summon a circle of hot, red flame was paired with the white-blue crackle of lightning.

"She's a bleedin' witch!" one of the thugs cried in pain.

They were disoriented by the Will attack, and I threw myself into the air, landing squarely on the large man's shoulders. He struggled to dislodge me from my position, but his neck snapped between the strength of my legs. As he crumbled beneath me, I managed to land gracefully on my feet. I beat back another man's melee attack and shot him squarely in the face with a blast from my Dragonstomper. The odds were slanted more in my favor now. Only 6 remained, and they were burned and still slightly unbalanced on their feet.

With my pistol back in my hand, three shots erupted from its elegant barrel, striking the chest of a charging mercenary. I could hear someone approaching from behind, and I skidded around. The enemy's blade sunk into my side, and I cried out, bringing my blade up in an arc. His hands flew to the wound at his gut, trying to stop his insides from escaping his body, but he dropped to his knees, then face first into the mud. I had to stop to pull the dagger from between my ribs. The slightly serrated edge made the removal all the more painful.

As the dagger fell to my feet, I felt a man tackle me to the ground, and we landed in the mud. The wind knocked out of my lungs, and I struggled to breathe against the pain in my abdomen and beneath the man's weight. His hands pinned my arms above my head, painfully stretching the wound at my side, and he grinned, as if victorious. "Well, aren' you pretty. Idn't she pretty, boys?"

The other three of those that remained agreed, and one of them came forward to collect my sword and Dragonstomper from the ground to toss them out of my reach.

"You put up a bit of a fight, didn' you?" He said maliciously. "I like a fight. Gets me excited, you see."

I spat in his face, then thrashed beneath him, trying to upset his balance on top of me. My rage quivered within me, but I couldn't unleash my Will at such a close proximity. Being so angry, I wasn't sure if I could properly shield myself. "Fuck you."

He merely grinned. "No, y'see, _I'm _gonna fuck _you_. Then he's gonna fuck you, then he's gonna fuck you, then...well, you get the idea. We've got plenty of mates back in Mourningwood, too, you little bitch, so don't faint from the pain yet." He released one of my hands to rip at my doublet and stick a finger in my wound.

The pain wracked my body, and I cried out, my vision spotting. His hand drifted away from me, and to the fastenings of my leggings. I tilted my head to the side, looking around desperately for a discarded weapon. The dagger that had wounded me lay nearly within my reach, but I would have to twist to reach it. I lifted my hips,the mercenary able to shimmy my leggings down, but not very much due to the moisture of my perspiration. As he worked avidly at trying to undress me, I managed to wrap my fingers around the blade, pulling it toward me.

"Gareth, watch it she's got a-"

Before my would-be-rapist could heed his friend's warning, the blade had swept across the soft flesh of his throat. Blood poured, and I closed my lips tightly to avoid getting any in my mouth. I shoved him off of me, and I pushed myself quickly to my feet, pulling my leggings up the best I could.

"You little bitch!" said a thin, gangly man as he rushed me. I grabbed his arm, twisting it behind him, and I jabbed the dagger into his chest. He fell, but I was struck by another bullet, in the leg. I jerked backwards, and I summoned the rest of my Will out of anger. I was bathed in a bright crimson light, and I threw my energy outward, burning the remaining two men alive.

I stumbled forward, my energy suddenly sapped, and I surveyed the are for my weapons. The Dragonstomper lay out of harm's way, untouched by my vicious show of Will, and I stooped, wincing as I did. I collected it, and I stowed it at my hip once more. I limped over to see that my blade, too, was mostly unharmed, merely blackened from the heat. I picked it up gingerly, and I sheathed it.

There was another rustling in the distance, and I heard a man gasp.

My Dragonstomper was out and it fired faster than I could survey the situation. I turned to see who I had struck, and my heart fell. It was a boy, no more than fourteen, dressed in mercenary colors but unarmed. The bullet had hit him in the gut, and he sank to his knees, clutching at the wound. The benevolent part of me cried out to help him, but I could not. I had no health potions from the alchemist, and the wound would definitely prove to be fatal.

The boy sputtered, and he sat backward on his haunches. His eyes were wide and gray, and his face paled. "Y-you killed everyone..."

A terrible tremor ran through my body, and I felt tears building in my eyes. My feelings battled each other. Comfort the boy so that he would not have to die alone or to leave and seek help for my own wounds? My legs shook, and the pain surged through my body and soul, as I turned my back on the boy and started down the path toward Millfields.

**A/N: Thank you guys for the reviews and favorites and follows that I've been receiving lately! Don't be afraid to leave a review if you haven't already. I don't bite, but Reaver might. **


	7. The Fragile

-Chapter 7-

-Reaver-

The night was cold, but Penelope had insisted that the balcony door be left ajar. She lay across the bed, nude and satisfied as I sat at the writing desk in the corner of the room. She opened her lolling eyes, and she raised a perfectly arched black brow at me. "What could you possibly be writing at this time of night, my love?"

I held my tongue as I drew the tip of the pen across the paper, glancing every so often to a piece of reference material. The loops of the lettering were very deliberate, but they looked as if they had been written in a hurry. One did not get as far as I did in life without forging a few notes and letters. The pen scratched against the parchment in a way that was strangely soothing, which was good because I could barely contain my excitement. I brought my eyes up to Penelope, and I gave her a soft grin.

She lifted herself from the bed, moving toward the basin of water her servant had brought in before I crept into her room. The water was likely tepid by now, but she washed herself all the same. She drew the sponge across her flawless pale skin, her eyes fixed decidedly on me, trying to entice me to come back to bed, undoubtedly.

"Now that Timothy is gone, I suppose that makes me Duchess, doesn't it?" She asked. I hadn't been completely explicit in the details I had given her of her husband's demise. So ignorant. So gullible. So _perfect_.

I continued scribbling away, nearly done with my little project. I inclined my head, allowing her to take it as she wished.

"You know," Penelope said, dropping the cloth into the basin once more. "I didn't believe that The Queen would execute him."

"Yes," I piped up, blowing on the wet ink of the note, setting it. "That is why we hastily threw together proof of his involvement with several mercenary groups." I laid the note face down on the desk, and I rose from my seat. I combed my fingers through my hair, which had managed to stay perfectly coiffed even through the vigorous activities I'd put myself through only minutes before.

She was pulling her dressing gown over her head, having taken the hint that I was not interested in an encore, and she strode toward the balcony. Ah, what a perfect night this was turning out to be.

I moved toward the bed, and I looked over the sheets. They weren't at all soiled, but they were a fair bit wrinkled. I sat on the edge of the bed, and I stooped down to gather my clothes. Wrinkled. Everything was wrinkled. I exhaled, and I dressed carefully, smoothing out as many of the blasted creases as I could. I bent and did the same to the bed. I _despised _wrinkles.

"Are you going to join me, darling?" Penelope asked, peeking her head inside briefly.

"The weather is quite chilly," I explained, motioning to my clothes. "I cannot afford to catch cold and miss all of the work that waits for me at the factories."

"Oh, love," She purred, beckoning me forth. "Once we are married, you needn't worry about going to that filthy place."

I said nothing, I merely pulled my boots on, and I walked across the room, gathering my coat on my way toward the balcony. I smirked, wrapping an arm around her as I stepped out into the cool night's air. The balcony had a view only of the woods, a rather silly fact, but Penelope claimed to love watching the birds in the trees during the spring. Otherwise, it was rather obscure, not visible from anywhere.

"When shall we announce the engagement, dear?" She asked. "It would look rather strange if we married so soon after Timothy's execution, don't you think?"

"Indeed," I agreed. "Though, I do not think that a wedding will be taking place any time soon, regardless."  
"What do you mean?" She questioned, inclining her head softly. Her eyes sparkled with a dim confusion. "You aren't getting cold feet, are you? This was the arrangement. You help me kill my husband, and we marry. For a Duchess to marry a commoner is very unlikely, but you would gain so much power."

"Oh, you silly girl," I chuckled deep in my chest. "You are no Duchess. You are the widow of a man who was stripped of his title before his death. Your claim was only by marriage. Why, I suppose that makes you nothing, doesn't it?"

"Wh-what do you mean?" Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell slack. "I thought that you cared for me."

"Cared for you?" The thought of it nearly sent me into gut-busting laughter, but I restrained myself. I pulled her tight to me, and I stepped closer to the ledge. "You think that is why I wished to make this alliance?"

"But...you told me..." She mewled softly, the heartbreak clear in her pathetic little voice.

"I am afraid I lied."

"I'll go to The Queen," Penelope said frantically. "I will tell her everything." She tried to tear away from me, but I had a mighty grip on her.

"You will not be telling anyone anything," I breathed grimly. "You will be quiet, or I _will _hurt you."

She silenced herself, and her body stilled.

"Now, if you told her everything, that would incriminate you as well as me, my dear, and we cannot have that."

"Please, Reaver," She whispered. "This plan can still work. I wanted Timothy dead because I want _you_. You could come to care for me."

"I'm afraid that will not be happening," I told her. "You are so very _beneath_ me now. I am The Duke of Millfields, after all. I cannot marry just anyone." I turned her around, to face the trees, and I leaned down to press my lips against the succulent flesh of her neck. "Not that I didn't enjoy our little...entanglement."

She was crying now, "You bastard. You stole everything right out from underneath me. I swear I will repay you for this."

"Ah, my dear," I sighed, as I lifted her tiny frame. "You won't live to see it."

Before she could react, she had fallen forward off of the balcony with the tiniest bit of effort on my part. She didn't make a noise as she fell, perhaps she was too shocked, and when she landed, it was with the most unpleasant thud.

I hurriedly jumped for the trellis, exiting the way I entered. When my feet touched the ground, I glanced in Penelope's direction. Her face was a vision of peace, and still very beautiful, even if her neck did twist the opposite way of which it was intended. How very fragile she was in the end. She had been such a resilient woman. I tutted softly, and I made my way into the woods. I had no time to linger. I needed to go to a tavern, become properly inebriated and make sure plenty of people saw where I was. Then, I would need to return home and wait for the news that Timothy Goulding's widow had become so overcome with grief, she had thrown herself from the balcony. She had left a very well-written note, after all.

* * *

-Keira-

I had tried many times to gather my Will and teleport to my sanctuary, but I was drained. I had to forge on, but I was losing blood faster than I thought I would. With my Will depleted, my healing was much slower. My knees buckled under the strain, but I continued up the hill. Bower Lake shimmered beneath the pale moonlight, and I heaved a ragged breath. I would only need to make it to Reaver's. Surely, someone there could tend my wounds and get me on my way to Bowerstone.

I felt weaker and weaker with every step I took, but I clutched against the bleeding wound at my ribs, trying to stem the flow. My leg and shoulder burned, but luckily—and unluckily at the same time—the bullets had passed cleanly through, leaving wounds that also dribbled with blood. Reaver's mansion was within sight, and I increased my pace. I would make it. I had to make it. I didn't leave that boy to die only to die myself. A twinge of guilt and pain crossed my heart, but it simply melted into all the other pain I was experiencing.

My legs sagged beneath me, and I was unable to hold myself up anymore. I fell to my side, in the middle of the muddy road. I cried out hoarsely, my eyes wincing shut from the shock the fall had sent through my body.. The pain surged through me, and I looked down to my side to see the blood still trying to escape.

My vision blanked in and out. I struggled to climb back to my feet, but I couldn't. I could barely lift my head anymore. I collapsed down into the moist earth, my muscles trembling with weakness. Another soft whimper left me. My eyelids drooped, and I rolled onto my back, though I wasn't sure if that had been of my own actions.

_I'm dying._

"Please don't let me die," I whispered aloud to whatever gods may have been listening in. "Not today..."

A muffled voice tried to permeate through my hazy state, and I tried to open my eyes. I pair of warm hands cupping my face and moving to my injured areas. I moaned softly in protest as the pain rattled me, and my eyes jerked open. I saw a pair of concerned bistre-brown eyes, but I couldn't register anything else before my eyes closed again. I was lifted from the ground. The wound at my side burned with pain as it was jostled, and a cry of pain escaped my lips. Everything clouded over once more, and faded to black.

* * *

-Reaver-

In the excitement of my escape, I had somehow managed to sully my clothes. If I were to be socializing with the lesser people of Millfields as their new Duke, I could not show myself in muddied, dusty trousers or wrinkled clothes. I would make my way back toward my estate on foot. Though the journey could hardly be considered a long one, I still longed for a horse or carriage. The more mud my boots and clothes were exposed to, the more foul-tempered I was likely to become.

With poor, pitiful Penelope out of my way, all of my loose ends were severed. Lady Eliza was ignorant of all but the truth—Goulding had been slandering The Queen viciously. She knew nothing of mine and Penelope's plot. The only person that knew a shred of what was going on other than myself was Murphy, and he wasn't likely to tell a soul—not that he'd be able to get it out, the poor chap.

There was a considerable spring in my step, and I sighed. The pride was overwhelming. I would get away with it. I was confident that the note would be more than convincing, and she _had_ made an effort to look as depressed and sullen as possible, she'd told me. People would undoubtedly write it off as shame and sadness of losing her husband, as I'd elaborated in her suicide note. It was just too good. The smile on my face was near indestructible.

As I approached my estate, my keen senses brought a huddled figure to my attention. It was a whimpering, injured thing, and I usually would have turned up my nose and entered through the gates, but I was feeling generous. I had, after all, just gotten away with murder, and I was a bit jollier than usual. What was the harm in finding out whose body blocked the path to my home?

I wedged my boot beneath the figure's torso, and she rolled onto her back easily, too weak to resist. Even with a mixture of blood, mud, and hair in her face, I could recognize The Queen instantly. I did not hesitate to kneel beside her, cupping her face in my hands. She was pale and nearly frozen. "Your Majesty, can you hear me?"

She was mumbling softly, "Please don't let me die...not today."

"Your Majesty?" I repeated. I lowered my voice, my eyebrows furrowing softly. "Keira?" I inspected her wounds quickly. If not treated immediately, they would prove to be fatal. She had lost a great deal of blood already.

For a moment, I considered what would happen if she did, in fact, die. The highest ranked nobleman would be awarded with the crown, and that just so happened to be _moi_. Though, under such circumstances, I doubted things would turn in my favor. I had only just been elevated to my title. Another factor was that The Queen was dying right in front of my estate. That would hardly endear me to anyone. I sighed, and I stroked her face once more, its silky softness still so appealing even when it was deathly cold. This was the second time this evening that I'd beheld the face of death with such scrutiny, not something I was fond of. These women—the fragile people that I surrounded myself with—they would all die, but I could do something to prevent this death. Something else wanted me to show mercy, something tucked deep inside, but I wouldn't let _it_ take credit. Saving her on this day would prove to be more self-serving than anyone would ever know.

"Not today," I said, scooping her up in my arms. Her body was limp and nearly lifeless, but there was still a spark of life within her. A Hero's spark that would hold on until the very last possible moment. She would survive, but it would be trying task on my part to coax her back to health. She would owe me, and that was just one more thing to look forward to.

I kicked the door loudly, my poor boots probably getting scuffed in the process, and I waited for Murphy to answer. When he did, his face turned white as a sheet, and he scurried off at once, knowing precisely what I required.

I carried her up the stairs, tracking mud absolutely everywhere, but I had more pressing matters to worry about. I turned into my bedchamber, and I lay her gently across the chaise lounge tucked against the furthest wall.

I scrutinized her wounds with a more focused eye. She had suffered two very ill-aimed gunshot wounds—one to the shoulder and one to the thigh—but a rather well-placed wound to her side. I had no time nor patience to unlace her doublet, so I ripped it open down the front. She was in no condition to complain. I stripped the garment off of her and inspected the slash to her side without obstruction. It was rough and jagged. The blade that had made it did not have a smooth edge.

"Murphy, you incompetent fool! Where are you?" I bellowed through the open door, as I continued ripping through her undergarments until she was bare from the waist up.

By some miracle, he emerged through the door with a tray laden with medical supplies, a basin of steaming water and a bottle of whiskey. He set it beside me, and he looked expectantly for instruction.

"Strip her of her boots and the rest of her clothes," I said, immediately reaching for the large, ruby-colored bottle. I uncorked it hastily, and I slid a hand beneath her head, cradling it. Her lips parted, and I was able to easily pour the elixir into her mouth. I massaged her throat, willing the potion to make its way into her system. I tossed the emptied bottle to the side, and I reached for the rag in the steaming basin.

"M-master," Murphy said. "Is she-?"

"No," I snapped quickly. "Do you not see her breathing?"

He shook his head, but he continued tugging the leather leggings down off of her hips. His face was stricken with panic, but he seemed to take my word on the matter.

I rinsed her wounds hastily, cleansing them of mud and debris, and I grabbed the second health potion. I poured the majority of it into the wound at her side, and I poured a few drops in each of her other wounds. I allowed my eyes to drift over her body once more. Her breasts rose and fell with more distinction, now. The healing was already beginning, and her strength was returning.

"She will pull through," I affirmed. I looked at Murphy through the corner of my eye as I reached for the bandages on the tray. I unraveled the fabric, tearing it into smaller, more manageable pieces. "Ride for Bowerstone immediately. Inform The Queen's people that she is here."

"Yes," He breathed, his eyes trailing over her. I could not tell if he was worried or trying desperately to memorize her curves, as he most definitely would not get another chance.

"Do not spare any details," I told him. "Let them know her condition. You will likely be escorted back by the Royal Guard, so do try to behave while you are about...And do not dally. This is something that must be handled as soon as possible." I would not make it out to the tavern it seemed, so this would have to serve as my alibi for the evening. Perhaps it would be better as it happened. Who would question the man who had just saved The Queen's life and spent the evening at her side?

He bobbed his head in agreement, and he turned to hastily leave the room.

I observed The Queen—Keira-with a keen eye. The bleeding had stopped and her wounds had started to knit together slowly. The bandages would barely be necessary as time went on, but I dressed them all the same, my deft hands delicate and precise. I took to cleaning her face, revealing its beauty even in sickness. Her shapely, soft lips were pale, and her long lashes fell against the dark circles beneath her eyes.

I chuckled vaguely to myself. I had taken a life, and I had saved a life. The irony was not lost on me. Though, the life I saved was worth infinitely more than the one I'd taken. The Queen of Albion was in debt to me yet again. I could only wonder how I could twist this situation to benefit me most. I reached for the bottle of whiskey on the tray, and I took the cork from it, and I held the bottle up.

"I can only hope that this will be the last time I need to make a quick decision regarding your life," I said softly, though I knew she could not hear. She was so very far away. I took a swig directly from the bottle, as that imbecile had not brought anything out of which to drink.

* * *

-Keira-

The pain struck me before I could even open my eyes. Everything was sore, and my head throbbed unpleasantly. I chanced taking a look at my surroundings, and I found that I was tucked into Reaver's bed, and upon further inspection, I found that Reaver was stretched fully-clothed across the other side. His face was peaceful, almost serenely beautiful. An empty glass rested on his rising and falling chest. The fact that it had balanced there for what must have been a good while amazed me.

I tried to push myself into a sitting position, but my stirring woke Reaver. He sat up sharply, the glass flying in the air. He caught it, and he placed it on the bedside table. He shoved me gently back into the pillows, his eyes telling me to stay put. He drew his pocket watch, and he glanced at the time.

"Good morning, my dear," He said, his silky voice almost comforting. "You realize that when I expressed my desire to sleep with you yesterday, this is not quite what I had in mind." He pulled the blankets down.

It wasn't until the cool air touched my skin that I realized I was fully nude beneath the sheets. I almost moved to cover myself, but my sense reminded me that Reaver had already seen me fully nude. Not to mention he'd most likely been the one to apply the bandages that criss-crossed around my abdomen.

He lifted my bandages to inspect the wounds beneath and he nodded, seemingly pleased with what he saw. "You nearly died."

"That might have put a damper on your evening," I said.

"Might have?" He asked. "I would have been thoroughly devastated, my dear. I _might have _cried."

I almost laughed, but I restrained myself, knowing that it wold only be painful. I watched his eyes. They scrutinized every inch, injured or not. A soft, cocky grin pulled across his face, and I sighed. "Thank you. You saved me. Without you..."

"I am sure I will find some way to collect on this debt," he said, shaking his head gently. Of course someone as hard-hearted as he was would find it difficult to accept such sincere thanks. He raked his fingers through his hair, and he pushed himself off of the bed. He walked around to the side of the bed that I occupied, and he grabbed a little red bottle from the bedside table. He uncorked it, handing it swiftly to me.

I drank it down, and I tried to ignore the bitter taste of the liquid. I sank back into the pillows, and I exhaled shakily. "The people at the palace are likely worried."

"I've sent Murphy to inform them of the situation," Reaver said, pulling his pocket watch out once more. "He will likely return soon with your guards or whoever else is worried."

I blinked softly. No one else would be worried. Not truly. I had no one besides Jasper, and he would likely not notice my absence until he was informed of it. The Sanctuary was so very secluded and time moved differently there, it seemed. "Unfortunately, all the people that once cared about me are gone...one way or another."

"Does my involvement in your recovery not prove that I, in some way, care?" Reaver questioned, his eyes piercing mine.

I sat up, and when he didn't hinder me, I ran my fingers through the snarled mess of my hair. "You might have cared if I died in front of your estate. It might not have looked good on your part."

"I am not _evil,_" He said. "I merely tiptoe the fine line of morality. I saved you because you are an interesting, enchanting woman. One unlike any other."

"Who just so happens to be The Queen of Albion and can reward such efforts on your part," I finished for him. The potion was already beginning to work. I felt my strength returning and the fatigue and pain that had settled in my muscles started to lift. "You must want something from this."

A smile cracked his stoic demeanor, and he held up his hands, as if to ask me if I could fault him for that. I couldn't. Whatever his reason for saving me was likely better than the alternative. "You are also quite the source of my personal entertainment."

"Entertainment," I repeated, raising a brow.

He ignored my reply, and he sighed. "I _did _stay by your side all through the night, coaxing you to drink health potion after health potion. I was quite attentive in my care for you." A small half-laugh half-sigh left him, and he said, "It was only once I knew you were safely on the road to recovery that I allowed myself to rest."

"I thought that you might have been celebrating your new title with _Penelope_," I said disdainfully. That hadn't been expected. I didn't want to sound so..._jealous_.

"She turned me away," He replied, rubbing his chin curiously.

"I've never known you to simply leave a woman without getting _something."_

He shrugged gently. "She seemed...sad, I suppose. I do not know. I did not ask."

"And you just left?"

"And I just left. I endeavor to avoid spending my evenings with crying, hysterical women." The humor of his smile touched his eyes.

"Yet you spent your night tending to my wounds."

"In my opinion, a silent woman is much better company than a weeping one." He took a seat on the edge of the bed, his fingers pulling the bandages away. He peeked at my wounds once more, and his lips curled into an even broader grin. He unraveled the dressings, pulling away the bloody linen to reveal a new jagged scar against my ribs.

"It is quite the little reminder of your mortality," Reaver said, running his fingers across the thick smooth scar tissue. "Does it hurt?"

I shook my head, my breath catching in my throat. As he let his fingers drift down my body, I nearly winced, but I found that he was in search of a bandage wrapped tightly around my thigh. He removed it as well, inspecting the round scar that had once been a bullet-hole. He touched this one as well, his fingers delicate against my flesh.

"Now," He said, bringing his eyes suddenly up to my shoulder. "One more." He unfastened the material, and he let it slide to the floor with the other soiled linens. He ran his thumb against the scar, circling it. "Do you feel well?"

I could feel a hot flush building in my cheeks, assuring me that the blood I had lost was now replenished. I took my bottom lip between my teeth, and I inhaled. "Yes, I-"

There was a knock at the door, and I pulled up the duvet to cover my nudity.

Reaver's face took on a considerably more annoyed expression, and he was across the room in a few short moments. He cracked the door, and he stuck his head out into the hallway. "Yes?" I heard him hiss.

I heard Murphy's stammering voice, but it was muffled and unintelligible from this distance. I saw the tension in Reaver's body soften, and he was nodding. He glanced at me once more to make sure I was covered, and he opened the door wide, allowing Murphy to enter. He avoided my direct gaze, as always, and he set the bags he carried at the foot of the bed. He gave me a stiff bow, and I could see that his face was particularly reddened.

"The maids are drawing The Queen a b-b-b-bath," Murphy informed Reaver. "In the guest quarters. The g-guard is on their way. I hurried ahead of them...I wasn't s-sure if The Queen wished to be f-found in your quarters, so I assumed..."

"A very astute assumption," Reaver said. "I shall see to it that The Queen and her belongings are moved into the proper quarters. Please let the other staff know that we will be accommodating her until she is fully recovered."

Murphy nodded, bowing in my direction once more, and he left the room, stumbling slightly over his feet.

I climbed to my feet easily, finding that I felt only a little tired. I found that the top bag that Murphy had brought in contained a dressing gown and my robe as well as a pair of slippers. I pulled them out hastily, and I pulled the nightgown over my body, stretching out the scar at my side, sending a twinge of pain through me. It was not unbearable, though.

Reaver exhaled, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He look particularly deflated, as if he'd planned on seducing me, which would not have surprised me. "I suppose that you would feel exponentially refreshed after a bath."

"And what precisely do you have planned for me after that?" I asked.

"Planned?" He asked, putting a hand over his heart in shock. "I am the prime example of spontaneity."

"I somehow doubt that," I murmured, shrugging the robe on over my dressing gown. I stepped into the slippers. "The gears are always turning in that steam-driven mind of yours. You're all cogs and engines and industry."

"Perhaps that is true," He said, but his ever-permanent grin was still plastered across his face. "Though, if I am industry, does that make you a wonder of nature? Organic and pure? Beautiful and wild?" There was a heated excitement in his voice as he approached me. "Nature waiting to be conquered by industry?"

"Your industry has threatened to destroy a good bit of nature, Reaver," I informed him. "Pardon me if I take pause." I swept past him, and I heard him breathe out loud, frustrated once more. I turned back to look at him.

"You want me," He said, storming after me, a fire in his eyes. "Indulge yourself." His fingers curled around my arms, pulling me toward him.

"I want a bath," I said twisting away. "There is much for you to do today, is there not? Perhaps Penelope would receive your company today."

"Perhaps," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I doubt I would enjoy her as much as I enjoy you, but I will try to endure it." His face was nearly blank, and he turned his back on me.

As I moved closer to the door, it struck me how very rude I'd just been. This man had just saved my life. I did, indeed, owe him, but it was more than that. I crossed my arms over my chest, and I sighed. "I'm sorry, Reaver. I am thankful for your generosity."

"You should be," He said. "You are its sole recipient. Now scurry along, dear. Take your bath, and I will have breakfast prepared."

For a moment, I wondered what exactly his words meant, but I decided that would be better contemplated in the bath.

**A/N: So I took my precious time with this one, but I believe it paid off in the end. I hope you enjoyed it, and don't be afraid to leave me a review.**


	8. The Hardest of Hearts

**A/N: This is a revised version of the last chapter posted before I placed this story on a short, well-needed hiatus. I was able to rethink things, and I feel nice and refreshed after a good bit of a break! I hope you enjoy!**

-Chapter Eight-

I dismissed Reaver's maids because, honestly, I didn't want to deal with anyone more than I really had to. They were chatty, giggly and generally bothersome to me. I needed time to myself. Time to contemplate all that had happened.

The moment I slipped into the hot water, I felt relief. I reclined to rest against the the back of the tub and reveled in the feel of the bath. I exhaled, and I closed my eyes. The day before had been one that I could easily label one of my worst. I had been having a lot of 'worst days' lately. I brought my hands up to my face, rubbing my leaking eyes.

The boy with the mercenaries had been an unnecessary casualty of that scuffle. He was likely just a son or brother of one of the other mercenaries. I'd never really come across an unarmed man with those groups. It just wasn't done. I sank my head underwater, and I felt like screaming. Too many deaths, and they had all been on my hands.

Timothy Goulding's death had been necessary. He was a traitor. He plotted my assassination. He had disrespected me, but had I done precisely what he wanted? Did he want to use his own death to prove my corruption? I shook my head gently. His sense of self-preservation had to be better than that, to have lasted this long.

I emerged from the water, and I pulled in a breath of cool, refreshing air. I gripped the cloth that hung conveniently on the side of the tub, and I dunked it into the water. I washed my face, my shoulder, my legs, and anything else that needed it. I was mentally exhausted, but my body felt refreshed, if only a little sore. The ragged hole in my heart ached for all of the misfortune that had befallen the people in my path, but at the same time I didn't know why I mourned. Had they been innocent? Hadn't they deserved it? Perhaps I was mourning myself, the hardening of my heart. That was something I'd never intended. I couldn't let myself become so cold, but was it already happening?

When the water started to cool, I finished up by rinsing my hair of any mud or blood that may have clung to it. I pushed myself from the tub, and I grabbed the nearby towel, drying myself. My hair would take a long time to dry, so I patted it off, and I quickly threw it into a braid, not wanting to fuss over it.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers tracing over the garment that had been laid out for me. It was a long, flowing icy blue dress that did not require extensive undergarments. I dressed myself slowly, thankful for the uncomplicated design of the dress. It did have a rather low neckline, but I could forgive that little flaw. I moved to observe myself in the mirror. My breasts were unbound and moved freely as I walked, which I was sure my host would appreciate, though I didn't want to attract much of his attention.

I could tell from the way Penelope had treated Reaver, she seemed to believe she had a claim in his future. Who was I to obstruct a woman whose first husband I had just executed? She would undoubtedly wait the appropriate amount of time in her mourning attire, then put herself back into society. She would be free to court Reaver, then.

I ran my hands over my face. My skin was in impeccable shape. I looked better than I had in weeks. Maybe I had gained some much needed rest during my overnight convalescence. I was still on the pale side, but I no longer had dark rings of insomnia and stress around my eyes.

I heard a slow knock at the door, and I gave myself a final glance in the mirror before going to answer it. I pulled the door open, and I saw Reaver standing there, looking slightly crestfallen. His eyes moved down my body, as always, but he very quickly found my eyes.

"I have received some rather distressing news, my dear," he sighed, his mouth pressed into a tight line across his face. "It seems Penelope Goulding has thrown herself from her balcony. She...did not survive."

I stepped backward into the room, and I looked him up and down. He looked genuinely disturbed about the piece of news. I closed the door behind him. This piece of news was truly surprising. From the way Penelope had acted, I thought perhaps she was putting on a show for me, but maybe she'd truly cared for Timothy. I couldn't see how, but it was not my place to judge. "I see. I am sorry. I know that you were more than friends."

"It is a pity," said Reaver as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "She assured me that she would be able to handle the consequences of bringing Timothy's treachery to your attention., but it seems that it was all too much for her."

"How did you find out?" I asked.

"News travels fast among such quick-tongued nobles," He said. "I received notes from nearly all of my neighbors regarding the tragedy."

I felt a pang of guilt in my heart. Penelope's death was yet another weight on my shoulders. I sighed, and I turned away from Reaver. "Again, I am sorry for your loss, Reaver. I feel as if this is somehow my fault."

"This is her husband's fault," Reaver said, a cool edge to his voice. "She would never have been driven to end herself had he kept his mouth shut and kept his intentions pure. It was the shame he brought that killed her, not his passing." He slid an arm around my waist, drawing me close. He exhaled sadly, his hand trailing softly down my arm.

"You seem awfully upset about this, Reaver," I said, turning around to face him.

"I am not without emotion, Your Majesty," he said. "I feel sadness and joy just as any other man. It simply takes more to penetrate the surface." He cupped my face. "Penelope's death is a great tragedy, and I feel its weight, as you do."

I exhaled. It was as if I were an open book, but he was an old, dusty volume, kept guard under lock and key. I couldn't tell if his words were genuine or if his reaction was just an elaborate plot to tempt me into his bed once more.

"I will not pretend that I loved her or that I love you, but if one of you had to be taken from me, I am relieved it was not you." He paused for a moment, and a soft smirk fixed itself on his face. "Penelope could not possibly compare to you."

My heart pounded in my throat, and I found myself having to tear my eyes from his. Things had gotten very intimate a little too quickly. I took a deliberate step backward, but I didn't pull from his grip. I just needed to put distance between our bodies, to quell the heat that was building rapidly within me.

He released me, and he motioned toward the door. "Come, my dear. We should have a bite to eat before deciding if you are well enough for travel."

"Trying to rid yourself of me already, Reaver?" I asked as we stepped out into the hallway.

"There are certain advantages to having you so near," He said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I am in no hurry to see you leave."

We once again shared the small intimate table that had been set up for our lunch a few days prior. I was ravenous, as I realized that I hadn't given myself a chance to eat the day before. Though, I ate my food as regally as I possibly could. Everything was delicious and fresh, and I found myself taking seconds of everything.

Reaver's appetite seemed to be as hearty as my own, though he didn't compliment everything as I did. He paid the cooks, and he expected perfection every time he sat at the table, I was sure. He had sent Murphy off to show my guards where they could sit and eat, so we were alone as we ate.

"I realize I've said this a few times," I started before I took a long sip of my water. "But thank you, Reaver. For everything."

He brought small toast point to his mouth, taking a bite, and he shrugged, as if he hadn't saved my life and nursed me back to health. He took a deep sip from his chalice, and he exhaled. "It is no problem, my dear. Though, I daresay you owe me a drink or two. I had planned on getting properly sloshed in celebration of my new lands and title."

"From the looks of that glass and bottle this morning, you got properly sloshed regardless," I chuckled as I dabbed my lips with my napkin. I lay it gently across my lap once more, and I pushed my plate away, finally sated.

He, too, pushed away his food, and he smiled. "It is not nearly as fun for one to drink alone, you must know."

"I wouldn't know," I said. "I've never had the pleasure."

"It is no pleasure," he said. "Especially when one thrives on social interaction, as I do. I've had many years to drink by myself, and I have grown tired of it."

"You talk as if you're some old soul that has lived forever," I giggled, sipping from my water again.

"Perhaps I am an old soul," He said, lifting his napkin from his lap and laying it across the table. "I believe that it is said that a man can live forever through his actions. I am sure I've made quite an impression on Albion in my years."

"I guess you have," I said, also discarding my napkin. I rose from my seat, followed closely by Reaver, who came immediately to my side. He took my arm and laced it gently through his.

"How do you feel, Your Majesty?" He asked as he led me in the direction of the foyer. "Is it too much to hope that you are still weak and convalescing and that you must stay with me another day?"

"I believe that I will be able to return to Bowerstone today," I said. I wasn't sure how to reply to him, so I'd settled on the truth. "I do not want to be a burden on you or your staff, especially after news of a close friend's death."

"You are no burden," He said, leading me toward the stairs. "As I've said, your company is exponentially better than most others." He unlaced his arm from mine and took my hand instead. Turning me to face him, he said, "You are-"

The sound of boots falling against the marble interrupted him, and I turned to see that my guards were lining up around the room, keeping a fast eye on Reaver and myself.

"Perhaps it would be best if I departed for Bowerstone soon," I said. "There is still much to do concerning your...ah..promotion." I withdrew my hand from his, and I clasped them behind my back.

"Well, as long as you will be thinking of me in the time we are apart," He said, his voice dropping to a more sultry tone. He gave me a wink, and he snapped his fingers.

Murphy appeared seemingly from thin air, and he was approaching Reaver rapidly, his breathing heavy. "Y-Yes, Master Reaver?" He huffed, and when he saw me, he threw himself into a deep bow.

"Have a carriage prepared for The Queen and myself," Reaver said. "I have factory business that needs to be seen to."

"Yes, s-sir," He said. "Your Majesty." He bowed once more in my direction, and he scurried off again.

"I thought we would be spending time apart," I said, a soft grin spreading on my lips.

"I thought perhaps you would enjoy my company as I would enjoy yours," He said. "I take pleasure in traveling with others."

* * *

The carriage came to a halt, and the footmen immediately opened the doors for Reaver and myself. Reaver stepped out first, swatting the footman out of the way to offer me his hand as I left the carriage. He allowed me to take my hand back, and he followed me toward the entrance where Hobson was waiting for me.

"Your Majesty!" Hobson exclaimed. "It is such a tremendous relief to see you safe! Thank you, Mister Reaver, for assuring that our beloved monarch would come back to us!"

I almost cocked a brow at Hobson, but I figured he was groveling to make up for the huge mistake he'd revealed the day before. I merely ignored him as I walked by, and Reaver followed closely. I glanced over my shoulder to find that his eyes were fixed on the swaying of my hips. "I thought you had important business in Industrial today, Reaver?"

"None so important that would prevent me from seeing you safely to bed," He replied, his eyes tearing away from my backside, filled with a deliberate heat. "You need your rest, Your Majesty. You've been through quite the ordeal."

I snorted softly with laughter as I took to the stairs.

"Your Majesty!" Hobson gasped, coming up to join me. "I must tell you that people have been asking about Mister Reaver's new title, and you've also received many letters of concern. Word has traveled fast of your heroic efforts against that band of mercenaries"

"If you would reply to those letters, assuring my safety and well-being, I would be grateful, Hobson," I said, giving him a task that would keep him away for a good while.

"Of course, Your Majesty. I daresay a few of these well-wishers cold be potential suitors. How would you have me reply to the young gentlemen? He questioned.

"You know," Reaver said, exhaling. "I believe that The Queen has more important matters to see to, Hobson. Scurry off, old man, and she will request you when you are needed." He shooed Hobson away.

Hobson bowed softly, and he retreated.

Reaver's reaction to the mention of suitors had me curious, and I eyed him momentarily.

Reaver reached to grab my hand. "Your Majesty, may I have a few moments with you in private?" His face read business, but his eyes were unreadable.

"Of course," I said with a short nod. I could only assume that he hoped to seduce me, but he didn't have that carnal glint in his eyes that I'd come to anticipate.

He strode ahead of me, already knowing the way to my bedroom, and he held the door open for me as we entered. He tipped his hat to the guards that stood watch, silently asking them to be sure that we will not be disturbed, and he closed the door behind him. He moved to set his hat down in the seat of a wingback chair, and he exhaled. He looked preoccupied, almost worried. He laced his fingers together, and he turned toward the freshly built fire. His eyes were fixed on the budding orange flames, and his mouth was set tightly.

"What is it, Reaver?" I asked, moving closer. I put a hand on his shoulder, and the tension in his body seemed to loosen.

He turned to look at me, his mouth relaxing and his eyes finding mine. "It is nothing, my dear. I merely..." He sighed, closing his eyes. "I feel overwhelmed. That is all."

"Overwhelmed?" I asked, but I then nodded. "I understand overwhelmed, Reaver."

"I imagine that you do," He said, bringing a hand up to cup my face. "I cannot imagine the weight that you carry...alone, at that." There was a tenderness to his voice that I'd never witnessed before. He wasn't putting on a show for the people at court. He wasn't trying to persuade me. He was speaking with me. He felt vulnerable, almost.

"Yes," was all I could say to that. It was so very true.

"I imagine that the people will be clamoring in the streets for a royal wedding soon enough. As Hobson mentioned, there are undoubtedly man suitors that would vie for your attentions."

My eyebrows knitted together, and I tried to find the emotion in his eyes, but I couldn't place it. I put a hand over his, and I asked, "And that would upset you?"

"I don't claim to have any investment in your future, Keira," He sighed. "But you must realize that I regard you with the utmost respect and admiration. For a man incapable of love...to capture my attention...that is quite a feat on your part."

"Incapable of love?" I asked. "That can't be true. No one is incapable..."

"It is a fact, my dear," He said, cutting me off. "I've grown weary of such frivolous emotions. Love inspires passion, just as anger inspires hate. Why not skip the unnecessary steps and simply aspire to be passionate?" He stroked my face. "Love is fleeting and fickle. It dies when the natural weakness of its creators comes to show its ugly little head. You have experienced the death of love, have you not?"

"The last man I loved gave his life the day I fled the castle," I said. "Logan killed Elliot. The love did not die before that, nor do I think it would have had things been different."

"It was his weakness, his despicable nobility that killed your love, dear one. Not Logan," He said. "If that boy cared for you, he would never have offered himself up as a martyr."

I had never thought of it that way. Maybe Reaver was right. Had Elliot truly loved me if he'd chosen death over a life with me? The rioting people he saved had been violent. They'd hurt people. I paused myself, thinking that the rationalizing in my mind sounded a fair bit like my older brother's voice.

"I cannot simply harden my heart," I said, drawing away. "It is not in me."

"It should be" He said. "I have seen you die little by little every day since you've put the crown on your head. Do not let the best of you die, Keira. Lock yourself away before the hemorrhaging of your heart causes any more damage. You will end up like poor Penelope if you do not take action now, darling. I could not bear it." He tucked a loose lock of hair from my the side of my face, and he turned, releasing me.

This conversation was rapidly becoming deeper than either of us intended. It was almost a revelation, but he was still so very guarded. Part of me was intrigued, drawn in. I wanted to get to the root of his words, know their meaning.

"This is not my point," he said, heaving a breath and crossing his arms over his chest. "What I am trying to say is that if you were to marry someone, do not pick a man for love alone. Love is notorious for taking root in the weakest of people. Albion is in need of the strongest of the strong. The most skilled rulers."

"Then what do you suggest, Reaver?" I asked. "Marry the first man to propose marriage?"

"I hardly think that I am in the right position to give you that sort of advice," he said. "I was merely telling you what was weighing heavy on my mind." He turned to capture me in his arms. "I would much prefer to veer away from such conversation, personally."

"Reaver, if you want to say something, then say it," I sighed.

"I think I have run out of words, dear. If I wanted to do something, would you wish for me to do it?" He asked, cocking a brow and offering me a playful, almost shark-like grin.

The moment his mouth came into contact with mine, my body melted against his. I slipped my arms around his waist. My body and my mind were in two separate places. Reaver's words had struck me deeply, and I was trying to contemplate them, but his body was so very aggressive in its assault of mine. I couldn't focus. I felt him lift me from my feet and carry me toward the bed. I drew from his mouth as he set me down, and I looked up to him.

His eyes were alight with passion and a little bit of playfulness as he reached down to pull the boots from my feet. He kicked off his own shoes, and he shed his black coat. The red waist-coat beneath was off within moments, and he eyed me, giving me a silent instruction.

I undid the sash to my dress, and I pulled the fabric over my head. My braid hindered things, so I loosened it, and let my hair fall in wild waves about my shoulders. I unrolled the stockings off of my legs, finding that his eyes were thoroughly interested in the slow reveal of my skin. As I discarded them, he was shimmying out of his tight pants. I discarded my underpants, and I beckoned him toward me.

He obeyed, his mouth overtaking mine, and he parted my thighs, settling his body between them. While I worked at pushing his shirt off of his shoulders, he slipped a hand up my chemise, pushing it up my ribs. His fingers brushed the fresh scar gently, but they moved further up toward their destination. His hips pressed tighter against mine, the swelling bulge beneath his underclothes pressing against my bare heat.

I trembled beneath his touch, and I groaned against his mouth. I slipped my legs around him, driving him closer, and creating a finer, more definite friction. This time, he groaned, and he moved his mouth to my shoulder, where he lay a few fervid kisses before he blindly reached a hand to the side of the bed. His hips rocked steadily against mine as he searched quickly through his pockets one-handedly.

I reached between us, wrapping my fingers around him through the fabric of his underthings. After he sighed with pleasure, he drew back, giving the pair of us room to continue our tasks. He found the condom, and I dipped my hand beneath the waistband of his only remaining clothes. He caught my hand, and he shook his head.

"Do not make me wait, darling," he breathed, as he quickly shoved his underclothes down off of his hips. He took his stiffened length in his hand to roll the protection down over it, and he pushed me back against the pillows.

He drove himself fully into me in a brilliant moment of pleasure that left us both panting. I cupped his face, pulling it toward mine, and he once again set to reaching beneath my chemise to tease the sensitized skin up my ribs and toward my breast. I could feel his lips turn upward in our kiss, and he pushed himself slowly in and out of me, delighting me with each movement.

Our bodies had become more attuned to each other. We moved together, knowing precisely how the other liked to be touched. The effect was astonishing. It came so easily, now. My hips arched upward to meet with his with every thrust, and my body coiled tightly around him.

I gripped his hair firmly, pulling him from my mouth, and I gave him a smirk. I asked breathlessly, "So this is what you would prefer over a nice, heart-felt chat?"

His lips drew upward, his brilliant smile now on display. "Any day, darling."

**A/N: The lemon in this scene was slightly inspired by an amazing piece of art by Zil-Foxxxil on Deviantart. ^_^**


	9. Darling

**-Chapter Nine-**

It had been five days since I'd returned to the castle, and there was still a great deal of catching up to do. I had to push my own personal needs to the side in order to go over the mountains of paperwork that had piled up over the past few weeks. I looked unenthusiastically at a large stack of personal letters, and I dreaded opening them. I had already known what they would say . As Reaver had stated, it would be expected of me to marry and produce an heir as soon as possible, especially when the start of my reign had been so trying.

I pushed the stack of offending letters to the side, and I glanced up to see that Jasper was entering the room with a tray. He'd pitched in the past few days, insisting that I should not need him in the Sanctuary, and that I should be resting the next few days. It wasn't a question. He'd decided for me.

He lay the tea down at the low table, offering a soft smile, and he raised his eyebrows. "Those letters," he said, eyeing the personal notes. "You cannot put them off forever, Your Majesty."

"I know," I sighed. I looked through the stack. There had to be at least fourteen of them. "A little part of me hoped that if I ignored them, they would go away."

"If I remember correctly, that is the precise stance your mother took, yet here you are..."

I laughed a little, and I stood to take my place for tea.

"And, Your Majesty," Jasper said, as if it were an after note. "You have a visitor."

"Indeed she does," Reaver said as he stepped into the room, as if he had been summoned.

"Good Afternoon, Your Majesty," Jasper said, giving me a nod, then he nodded to Reaver. "Your Grace." He moved swiftly from the room, closing the doors behind us.

Reaver's mouth stretched into a wide grin, and he turned his attention to me. He watched as I poured myself a cup of tea, and he strode toward the desk, surveying the chaos atop its surface. He tutted softly. "My, my, darling, you have gotten yourself into quite a heap of paperwork," He said.

"A lot of it was sent by your factories, to secure Page's referral to her position," I told him, narrowing my eyes. I dropped a cube of sugar into my cup before stirring.

He smirked knowingly. "That paperwork is but a fraction of the annoyance that I must now endure." He noticed the stack of letters, and he thumbed through them casually, as if he were privy to such documents.

"Reaver...those are private," I told him, setting down my tea and walking toward the desk.

He popped the seal of the letter on top, and he opened it up. As he read, his eyebrows darted up, and he snorted with laughter.

My face flushed with frustration. I reached for the letter, and he yanked it up out of my reach. "Oho! This is a letter of proposal. Do you know this..." He flipped the paper over to check the name on the exterior of the parchment. "Sir Gregory Thames?"

"No," I said, still leaping to try to get the letter back.

"Oh, well, he goes on about you...how 'your hair shines like silk or satin or some other type of very fine fabric that shines...' What a way with words your poetic little suitor has!" His laughter filled the room, and once he'd finished reading, he allowed me to grab the letter.

Upon inspecting the correspondence, I saw that Reaver had not been exaggerating regarding Gregory Thames' skill of prose. It made my stomach twist with embarrassment. I folded the letter up, slightly red-faced, and I snatched to grab the remaining letters.

His hand was faster than mine, and he inspected each of the names on the envelopes, his laughter growing as the suitors seemed to grow more obtuse and ridiculous."How adorable... These men actually believe that they could marry you!"

"One of them must," I said.

"None of these men are going to marry you, Your Majesty," Reaver said. "Of that you can be assured." He put the letters down on the desk, not bothering to open any more. He'd gotten his fill of amusement at my expense already.

"Oh? And what makes you so sure about that?" I asked, putting my hands firmly on my hips. "Why are any of those men unworthy. They have titles, they are of the appropriate age..."

"You already have a suitor, dear," He said. "Or have you not heard the rumors floating around Bowerstone and Millfields in the past days?" He cupped my face. "You are all but engaged to this man already, according to some of the more talkative ladies of court."

I knew he wanted me to ask, but we both knew exactly what would be said. I instead raised an eyebrow to him, and I asked, "What are this suitor's intentions?"

"I suppose I would be lying if I said that I had not thought about it," Reaver said. "The draw of your title paired with the fact that you are the most desirable woman—nay person—in all of Albion is tempting, you must know."

"And those are your only reasons?"

"You are in need of a husband that can provide you with an heir," Reaver said. "I will certainly endeavor devotedly to work at that cause until one is produced." He lowered his voice and bent to speak in my ear. "And do not tell me that you have not enjoyed our little...practice sessions." His hand wrapped softly around my arm, and a devilish glint lighting his eyes. "Our chemistry is merely a bonus of what I propose."

"And what do you hope to gain from this?"

"Oh, but I am doing this for you, my dear," he said, the tone of his voice heavily implying that his words were untrue. He leaned against the edge of my desk, pulling me toward him. "I think we both know that this would only benefit both of us."

I exhaled. "Is that your way of asking me to marry you, then?"

"Would you prefer I stoop down on one knee? Ruin my suit and look like a foot while presenting you with a ring I do not have?" He cocked a brow.

"You realize that girls fantasize about this moment their entire lives, don't you?" I asked, a little bit of laughter bubbling from me.

"Oh, so be it," He said. He fell to his knees, taking my hands in his, and he replaced his smug look with one of false hope. "Oh, love of my life, light of lights, my precious gem, will you do me the most exquisite honor of becoming my bride?" The smug grin returned once more.

"No ring?" I asked curiously, glancing around."Usually when men propose, they have something to put on a woman's finger." I offered him a wide, playful smile.

He frowned, and he patted himself down. "Oh, I seem to have forgotten that people always carry around multiple wedding rings for just such occasions..." He sighed, defeated, and he said. "That is one tradition we are simply going to have to skip for now, my dear." He rose to his feet. "Your answer?"

I never thought that this would happen. Reaver had just proposed marriage, and I was actually contemplating it. Why wouldn't Reaver be a good husband for me? Granted, he was morally skewed, and frankly more than a little corrupt, but he was the ideal candidate. I knew him, and part of me, as silly as it was, trusted him.

"Yes," I said, nodding.

He brought my hands to his mouth, and he grinned. "Then, we shall do this the proper way."

I was curious. Of what did he speak now? He'd just gotten down on his knees, begged for my hand. What more could there be to it?

He reached in his pocket, and he pulled out a piece of parchment.

A contract. I should have known. I snatched it away from him before he could open it up, and I unfolded it. There were a great deal of business terms that I didn't quite understand, but the basis of it was clear. It was an agreement that upon our marriage, Reaver would retain the title of Duke of Millfields, as well as be granted a dowry, as was traditional for such a union. It also stipulated that from the time of our engagement on, I allow no one but him to bed me. In return, he agreed to give me at least one child heir, improve conditions in Industrial, as well as be civil to Page—the fact that this was a stipulation to the contract was slightly humorous.

"Well?" He asked expectantly, and he held out a pen. "Are my conditions fair?"

"It's a little suspicious how fair they are, actually," I said, reading over the contract once more.

"You expect me to swindle you, my pet?" He asked, producing a pen from his pocket. "All you need to do is sign, and I will take care of the rest. We will be able to announce our engagement within the fortnight, and I will get you that ring you so desire." He winked softly as he jabbed the pen in my direction.

I took it, and I signed the bottom hastily. "Do we seal this with a handshake, then?" I asked, cocking a brow at him.

"Oh, my darling one, I think we are beyond handshakes." He took the contract, signed it himself, and lay it across the top of the discarded suitor's letters.

"You are sure that this is what you want?" I asked. "I never figured that you would be the type to settle down."

"I try to be as unpredictable as I can manage," He said, grabbing the contract and folding it neatly. "It has served me well these past years." He took his pocket watch from his waistcoat and he glanced down to the face. "I fear I must take my leave, my betrothed. I have much to do at the factories, and your friend is not making my life any easier." Without so much as a wave goodbye, he turned and left the room, closing the doors and leaving me to my tea.

I sat down in front of my cup, which was still piping hot, and I exhaled. That had been an interesting few minutes, but a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I no longer had to worry about finding a suitor, but I did have to worry about entering into a marriage with Reaver. Would so much change? Undoubtedly...

* * *

**-Reaver-**

I tugged the gloves off of my hands, and I ran my fingers across the dried ink of her signature. She had agreed without so much as a complaint. I had expected some resistance, at least, but it all worked out in the end. I knew that her answer would be 'yes.' How could it not be? This was me after all. What woman could refuse entering into the binds of matrimony with someone such as myself? I had the appropriate titles, the money, the influence, the blessing of flawlessly handsome features, and now I had The Queen. A grin of self-satisfaction crept across my mouth, and I peered out the window.

I crossed the room, shedding my coat and tossing it onto the rack by the door. It landed perfectly on its mark, as I knew it would. I glanced out the window. From my office, I could barely see the castle through the thick black grey clouds of industrialization, but soon, it would be my home. The Queen would be my wife, and I would be a Prince. Prince Reaver. The prospect made me absolutely giddy.

There was a swift rap at the door, and I turned just as the guest entered. It was Page—with her narrow, angry eyes, and thick, pouting mouth. I couldn't help but give her a broad smile. I strode back to my desk, and I took a seat, gesturing for her to sit across from me. Nothing would damper my mood—not even the presence of a knuckle-dragging sewer-dweller.

"Good afternoon, my dear," I said, summoning my most velvet-soft voice. I leaned back into my chair, feeling totally at ease. "How can I assist you?"

Her face contorted into a look of confusion, and she tilted her head to the side. She looked a little unmanned, but she swiftly drew in a breath and gained her composure. "I've come to update you on the state of the worker's benefits that I've been trying to implement. You have not given a precise number as to what you'd like-"

"Oh, give them what they need," I sighed, waving a hand in a dismissive fashion. "I'm feeling rather generous today. Take that number you proposed and add another five gold to it. These people shall have the money for physicians or whatever they require."

Her eyes bugged out, and for a moment, I thought they, along with her jaw, might hit the floor. "I...ah...Are you well, Reaver?"

"Quite," I replied. "Though, I believe that some of the money, at least, should come from the worker's wages. I couldn't possibly pay for that amount of people. It is simply not good business."

"That is...surprisingly fair," Page remarked, still looking at me as though my face were upside down.

"You wouldn't be the first to come to the same conclusion today, my dear," I said as I reached in my pocket for my silver cigarette case. I lit one of the long, slender things, and I inhaled deeply. "Now, are there any other matters you wish to bring to my attention while I am in such a giving mood?"

She glanced off to the side, thinking. The gears were turning, but not very quickly it seemed. She returned her attention to me, and she shook her head. "Nothing comes to mind, Reaver. You have already allowed me to improve the factory conditions, and you've given the workers a pay-raise...I suppose if you were feeling especially generous, you could start a scholarship..."

"I think not, dearie," I said, flicking a bit of ash off of the tip of my cigarette. "The people already have the option of going to Brightwall Academy free of charge. To start a scholarship program would be redundant, would it not?"

She chewed on her thick, shapely lip, but she said nothing in return. She probably did not want to press her luck.

I sighed, and I crossed one leg over the other, leaning further back in my seat. "I so hope that you are enjoying your position." Perhaps small-talk would loosen her hold on that hatred. "I was hesitant to have you working under me, but I suppose it is something I could get used to. It allows me to spend more time at the castle."

Her eyes sparked with curiosity. She looked as if she wanted to ask a question, but she was afraid, the poor thing. She crossed her arms over her underwhelming chest, and she huffed a soft breath, turning the question over in her mind. "What is it that keeps you at the palace, Reaver?"

"I so enjoy doting upon my darling queen," I told her.

"That isn't what I heard you have been doing," Page said quickly, her tone nearly acidic.

"Oh, my dear, a gentleman never kisses and tells," I informed her, barely able to contain my grin of extreme pleasure. "The Queen is a lovely woman who I find to be extremely worthy of my time."

"Did you truly save her life?"

"That I did. She was in need, and why should such a beautiful flower wither when I was perfectly capable of helping her? She collapsed not even a few meters from my mansion. If I had simply ignored her what sort of man would I be?"

She regarded me with a look of astonishment. She blinked a few times before nodding gently. "I suppose that sounds believable, but can I just ask...?"

"I fear that you will ask regardless of what my answer will be, so ask."

"What are your intentions with her?"

I merely grinned. "Why, I think that is a good discussion for another day, dearie. All will be made clear soon enough. Now, scurry off and implement the things we've discussed before I change my mind."

She rose quickly from her seat and left without even so much as a goodbye, but I didn't mind. I suppose she couldn't help her uncivilized behavior. She was raised in the streets...or rather not raised at all. Such a pity. She was rather pretty, and I so missed losing myself in the dark skin of the beauties from Samarkand. Though, I had a porcelain beauty waiting for me at the castle, and that pleased me just as well.

As soon as Page left the room, Murphy entered, looking particularly nervous. Though, he managed to stumble over his feet only once as he crossed the room toward me. He carried a locked box, and I felt my heart flutter with excitement.

I stubbed the cigarette out in the crystal ashtray, and my eyes widened in anticipation as he lay the box before me. "There was no trouble in acquiring these, I hope?"

"N-no," Murphy confirmed, shaking his head. He fumbled with the key for a moment before handing it over to me. "Th-the shop keep said anything for you."

I grinned. Of course she would. I turned the key in the lock, and I threw the box open. Three unique, glittering rings shone atop velvet cushions of deep purple. They had all been designed specifically for this occasion. Oh yes, I had been busily planning away for this, and now it was all coming to fruition.

I immediately ruled out the smallest, and I set my attention to the two larger, more elegant pieces. The first was a large, sparkling canary yellow stone cut into the shape of a teardrop, and it was set on a shining golden band. The size of the single stone was astonishing, but I found myself frowning at the color. Keira looked lovely in yellow, this was true, but it was not the most complimentary color for most occasions.

The last was a more traditional-looking ring for engagement. A large, glimmering emerald-cut diamond lay against a white-gold setting. It was surrounded by smaller, equally shining diamonds, then complimented by dark-blue—nearly black—stones. I picked the ring up off of the cushion to inspect it closer, and it caught the dim light from the window beautifully.

"It's b-beautiful, sir," Murphy remarked. "Very suitable for Her M-majesty."

"Indeed," I confirmed with a nod. I glanced up to him. "I can only hope she will agree."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then, I will have to find a better jeweler, I suppose," I said darkly. "This woman...she is different from the others, Murphy. I must tread lightly until all is set in stone."  
"D-do you care for her, s-sir?" He bumbled, stuffing his jittery hands into his pockets.

I shot him a dangerous look, and I closed the box, locking it once more. I shoved it back in his direction, and I said, "See to it that these others are returned to the jeweler. Payment will come when The Queen accepts her ring."

Murphy bobbed his head in nervous agreement, and he snatched up the box once more. As he left the room, he managed to stub his toe roughly against the doorjamb, but he merely winced and moved on, closing the door delicately behind him.

I lifted the ring to the light once more. It was truly spectacular. If Keira didn't accept this ring, I would have to assume it would only be to spite me. She was, after all, more strong-willed than most other women. Perhaps that was what I appreciated about her. She was ever a challenge, a puzzle to be solved, a prize to be won—and I had hit the jackpot.

* * *

**-Keira-**

"Reaver?" Jasper asked, his eyebrows shooting upward. He blinked a few times, and he moved his mouth wordlessly before finally saying, "Are you quite sure?"

"He has made an offer," I said. "And it is a reasonable offer. He is a nobleman-"

"Only just," Jasper pointed out.

"And he...saved my life, Jasper," I said, my eyes finding his. My chest grew tight, and I exhaled. This was not the type of conversation I'd ever anticipated having with someone else, but here it came. "I thought I wanted to die, Jasper. After Logan...after Walter. I didn't see the point anymore." I diverted my eyes away from Jasper, feeling slightly ashamed at the revelation.

His eyes grew large and sad. "I..I had no idea, Keira."

"It wasn't until I lay dying in Millfields that I realized that I wanted to live," I said. "And I prayed...I prayed to be able to live...and then Reaver came." I exhaled, and I glanced up to him once more.  
"Do you...ah... love him?" Jasper asked, raising a brow.

"No," I replied quickly. "I merely have a respect for him, I suppose. I trust him, and what more could a monarch ask for in a union such as this?"

"That is...very true," Jasper said with a nod. "So you have made this decision already, I suppose? There is no way I could ask you to give any other suitors a chance?"

"What would be the point? I do not love any of them any more than I love Reaver," I said. "Though, Reaver did come in person to ask for my hand."

"Yes, I can see where that would work in his favor," Jasper remarked. He exhaled softly, apparently feeling defeated in the topic. "I suppose that if this is what you choose, I cannot protest. You are a grown woman perfectly capable of making your own decisions. I only hope that the cruelty he has been known for in the past does not carry through to your marriage."

"I am capable of taking care of myself, Jasper," I told him with a grin. "I hit very hard, I've been told."

Jasper laughed at this, and he nodded in approval. "I surely wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of your fist, Your Majesty." He gathered up the personal letters on my desk, and he raised his eyebrows at me. "Have you thought about how to reply to these?"

"I am not sure," I said with a sigh. "Do I simply disregard them until I announce my engagement, or do I write them all back, declining each offer?"

"I suppose I could draft a refusal letter for you, Your Majesty," Jasper said. "You have been working very hard these past few days. You should take time to rest."

"I'm fine, Jasper," I assured him.

He gave me a solemn look that urged me to go on. "Your furry friend has felt rather neglected in your convalescence, Your Majesty. Perhaps a walk with him about the garden would be refreshing to the both of you?"

"Thank you, Jasper," I said, raising to my feet. "I think I will do that."

* * *

Angus bounded happily across the grass, turning to make sure I was following. He leaped toward me, and he wagged his tail happily. He held a stick in his mouth, his eyes pleading, and I bent to take it from him. I tossed the stick all the way across the yard, and he sped off to chase it.

The cold bite of the wind caught me, and I brought my arms tighter around my body. I watched Angus search around for the stick. I had thrown it quite far, but I smiled. The stress of the past few days had melted away. I felt almost content.

"There you are, my darling," came Reaver's voice from behind.

When I turned, I saw that he had changed into a dark, form-fitting suit and his top hat perched atop his perfect hair. He smiled widely to me, and he took my hands in his. They were so very warm compared to mine. He stroked the bare flesh of the tops of my hands with his thumbs almost affectionately.

"I believe I have something you requested of me earlier," He said softly. He led me toward a nearby bench, and he glanced about the garden, as if to check who was watching. There were many eyes fixed on us at the moment, but that didn't seem to dampen his determination. He sat me down, and he took a seat beside me. "Now, do try to look surprised."

I almost laughed, but when he produced the sparkling ring, I truly was surprised. It was beautiful, if a bit gaudy. It was certainly Reaver's taste. My stomach did a bit of a flip, and I blinked. I heard a few nosy guards murmur softly, and I brought my gaze to Reaver's.

"Now, dear," Reaver said, leaning close. He took my left hand, and he slid the ring onto the appropriate finger. It fit perfectly, and it shimmered even in the dull light of the sunset. "I believe that this is what you wanted. Feel free to thank me however you deem necessary. I am very much unopposed to public displays of affection now that this is official."

My breath had caught in my throat, and I chewed on my lip softly. It was extraordinary, and I could never have imagined that I would react so deeply. I never believed that I was the type of woman to go breathless over a ring. I stared down to the shimmering bauble on my finger, and I turned it so that it caught the light.

I felt his hand cup my face, tilting me to look at him, and he was all smiles. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking if it was sufficient. There was a playfulness in his eyes that I could only return. "You are pleased, I take it?" He asked.

I did what any woman presented with such a ring did. I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my lips against his. As he said, it was already official, and I knew that the people would know soon enough. I felt his posture loosen, and he stroked my cheek gently.

He drew from the kiss, still grinning. "You realize that your guards are watching?"  
"This is what you wanted, right?" I asked. "You wouldn't have given me this ring in public if you didn't want people to know."

"Sharp as ever, darling one," He chuckled.

Angus approached, the stick in his mouth, and he glanced up inquisitively to the pair of us. I took the stick from him, and I threw it off again. He loped off after it, yipping excitedly.

I rose from the bench, and Reaver followed. "Dinner is to be served soon. Would you join me?"

"It is expected of me, I am sure," Reaver said. "Though, that does not mean I will not take pleasure in your company." He looped my arm in his, and he nodded over toward Angus. "Summon your...friend, and we can get you out of the cold. I would hate for you to be sick, dear."

"But you are so talented at nursing me back to health," I told him with a soft laugh.

"That is a service I do not simply hand out," He informed me, leaning in to kiss my cheek, his eyes finding the on-looking guards, who found something else to look at rather quickly. "But for you, ma petit, I suppose I could stay by your bedside." His eyes suggested a double meaning in his statement, and I very quickly caught on. Perhaps there would be a little bit of time before dinner was served. My stomach fluttered as he leaned to brush a lazy kiss against my face, and I finally felt the weight of Reaver's words the other day.

As we made our way toward the castle, I imagine we looked like any normal, loving couple. His eyes were fixed on me, and mine on him, and we smiled. An ignorant observer would probably assume that this was a union of love, but as Reaver had stated, love was merely a stepping stone to passion—and that we had that in abundance.

**A/N: I'd like to thank my readers/followers for waiting patiently for this update! I had doubts about this story, but after a bit of a break and a bit of a creative epiphany, I have been working at this. I'd also like to thank my wonderful beta Angelacm, because she's just the best! I hope you liked this chapter, and reviews are ALWAYS appreciated! Thanks for reading! **


	10. Mine

**-Chapter 10-**

The day that Reaver and I were married, the first snowfall had covered Bowerstone in a sheet of flawless white. Despite the chill, the people had still lined up outside of the temple, greeting the Queen and her new consort happily. The ceremony had been quick and to the point. Our vows were minimal, but still held a warm and loving tone—Reaver had been insistent on that. I supposed he had wanted people to think he'd captured the very heart of The Queen of Albion.

I found myself excited for the day, but saddened by it at the same time. While my people were present to witness my union to Reaver, I had no family or friends apart from Jasper. Page was running the factories in Reaver's absence, and Ben Finn had sent a letter begging forgiveness that he could not make it. This day—a day that girls would otherwise dream of their entire lives—was so very lonely for me.

My dressers had ensured that I looked flawless in my bridal gown. A snow-white dress made with pounds of lace had been designed specifically for the occasion. It trailed yards behind me as I made my way down the aisle of the temple, and those present gasped at its extravagant beauty. Even Reaver looked slightly awestruck as he watched me making my way toward him. His smile had been unbreakable, and his eyes were filled with undiluted thrill.

My soon-to-be husband reveled in the attention of the citizens. They had grown more fond of him in the months leading up to the wedding. He'd started loosening the strict rules at his factories, while still maintaining a watchful eye. Productivity was astoundingly high, and that pleased him to no end. In the wake of our engagement, people's attitudes were lifted, and the wounds of the wars had started to heal. The majority of my people found joy in the idea of our union, and I could only hope that it would be enough.

The Temple had been packed so tightly, I was surprised that anyone could move. The doors burst open, and I inhaled a breath of the chilly winter air. Bright red petals of imported Auroran flowers were thrown by our well-wishers, picturesque as they cascaded over us along with the snow. The cheering was nearly deafening, and Reaver escorted me quickly, yet gracefully, by the arm toward the waiting carriage.

The footman opened the door swiftly, and I entered first, my attendants tucking the long, trailing train of my dress in behind me. Reaver came next, careful not to tread on the delicate spill of the lace train that covered the floor, and he took a seat across from me in the carriage. His face was edged in pink from the cold, but a smile cracked his mouth.

When the door closed, the carriage started off slowly toward the castle. I could hear the cheers of the people growing more distant behind us, as bouts of "Long live The Queen!" were shouted. I smiled faintly, and exhaled. The whole ordeal had been exhausting. The preparations, the planning,_ the cost_. It was lucky that Reaver had put forth the majority of his dowry to pay for the event. When asked why request a dowry in the first place, he merely shrugged and stated that it didn't feel as if he were getting much out of our arrangement.

Reaver had dressed in a rather somber-looking fur-lined black suit—not what I'd expected from him. I thought for sure that he would have wanted to dress brightly, but he declined, stating that a black suit looked elegant against the lacy detail of my dress. Soon enough, all the men of Albion would be wearing black suits and ties to their weddings, he'd assured me. He ran his hands over the fine dark fabric of his suit, brushing the melting snow away, and he brought his eyes up toward me, they lit with humor, and he leaned forward.

His fingers plucked a stray flower from between my breasts, and he discarded it, raising his eyebrows." It seems your breasts are useful for catching more than the ardent attention of men." He chuckled softly, and he leaned back in his seat.

I swept a hand across the chilled flesh of my décolletage, checking for any other stray blossoms. I laced my fingers together, still trying to adjust to the new jewelry on my hand. As the silence grew between us, a feeling of emptiness returned. I found myself missing Walter, but most of all I missed my brother. After my father died, I'd always hoped that it would be Logan that would give me away at my wedding, but today, I took those steps alone. Every day, I forgave him a little more, and I wondered if the people could have done the same. Was his death truly necessary, or had I acted hastily?

"You look worlds away, _my beautiful wife_," Reaver stated, his fingers tapping his chin softly. His eyebrows raised, and he tilted his head inquisitively to the side.

I blinked a little, shaking my head and turning up my lips into some semblance of a smile. "This day has been rather taxing. That's all."

"Oh, darling," he sighed, sliding across the carriage to take a seat next to me. "You cannot be exhausted already. We have yet to _consummate_ this union." His finger ghosted over the flesh of my cheek, and a his mouth touched to the lobe of my ear. "All of the frivolous festivities are nothing compared to what is to come, _ma belle_."

The desire coiled hot within me, and I could feel the warmth radiating from within, causing me to forget about the chill of the snow outside. My eyes found his, and they were smiling just as brightly as his mouth. My lips parted, but no words came.

"You want it badly, don't you?" His voice was little more than a husky whisper. His hand clasped at the nape of my neck, pulling my face so very close to his. His breath was hot and sweet, and it made me crave the taste of his mouth.

I splayed a hand across his chest, and I brought the other to the side of his face. His heart was thundering with exhilaration beneath his breast, and he glanced down to my hand, knowing that I could feel his excitement. "You want it badly, too."

"That I do, my sweet." He leaned in, his lips barely touching against mine as his grin grew more devious. "The ride to _our_ humble abode is far too short for such dalliances, I'm afraid." His words brushed my lips, sending a tingle through them.

The need that this tension inflicted was nearly unbearable. My body trembled gently with restraint as his fingers delicately stroked my neck. I almost groaned in frustration, but I remained still, steady, _silent_. The heat between my thighs turned to a throbbing ache, and I exhaled a quaking breath as my eyes fluttered shut.

The carriage came to sudden halt, but Reaver didn't release me. His free hand merely found its way to cover mine over his heart. He teased the flesh of my hand with a thumb as he leaned in, pressing his lips fully against mine. Light suddenly spilled into the carriage, as one of the attendants had opened the door.

"P-pardon me, Your Majesty, Y-Your Grace," came Murphy's timid voice.

I opened my eyes as I parted from Reaver's mouth, and I heard a throaty laugh come from my new husband. I remembered that Reaver had mentioned something about Murphy being present to see to the final details of the reception.

"Oh, you do have perfect timing, Murphy," Reaver said, still smirking. He unhanded me, and he moved to step out of the carriage first. He straightened himself before offering me his hand and assisting me out of the carriage. Attendants flocked to see to the massive length of my dress, and Reaver and I gave each other a glance before hurrying into the warmth of the palace.

* * *

Our guests applauded thunderously as the herald announced the entrance of The Queen and her husband, The Duke of Millfields and King-Consort. As we crossed the threshold, the people stooped into low bows, and Reaver's hand tightened excitedly around mine. He was enjoying the attention, I was sure. At least one of us was. I had grown weary of attention and dresses and elaborate hairstyles. I had changed from the long, trailing lace garment into an ivory stain ball gown that swooped down low off of my shoulders, and I'd requested that my dressers put my hair into a simple loose style that let a few curls spill onto my shoulders.

"What an absolute pleasure it is to see all of your smiling faces!" Reaver announced loudly as we made our way toward the table of honor.

"Yes," I chimed in, plastering on a smile. "This is a most joyous occasion—worthy of celebrating."

The people murmured in agreement, and Reaver drew my seat away from the table, and helped me down into it. He took his place beside me, putting his hand over mine, and leaning in to place the gentlest of kisses against my cheek The people reacted happily at the show of affection, and I found my glass of water, taking a deep sip.

The toasts and first dances went by without conflict or much to comment on. Reaver and I danced beautifully together, We moved with grace and skill that most others did not possess. He made sure to give me a few lustful looks as he gripped me tightly. He seemed to be constantly touching me throughout the reception. An arm around the waist, his hand on my cheek, a guiding hand on my lower back as we moved from noble person to noble person accepting congratulations and wishes for a long, happy union.

The meal was satisfying enough, but I still felt a great emptiness inside. The only difference between now and the carriage ride was that my cheeks were sore from the constraint strain of my half-forced smiles. I would be glad when the reception was over. I knew that Reaver shared my feelings because every so often, he would give me this wide-eyed, exasperated look behind the other people's backs before offering a smile, in an attempt to lighten my mood. I appreciated that, at least.

I sipped at what must have been my fifth or sixth glass of champagne, but I didn't feel the tiniest bit tipsy. The mood was dying down, and an end was coming to the reception. I knew that soon enough, I would be away from the hum of constant conversation and out of the dress that weighed more than a garment should. I watched as Reaver spoke animatedly to the group of nobles that we stood near. I found that my attention had been dwindling the longer the day went on, but I smiled and nodded, every so often, putting in a few words of my own.

"Ah!" Reaver exclaimed, jerking me from my blank thoughts. He guided me toward a small gathering of people…one of them in particular. "Sir Gregory!" He waved his hand excitedly, chewing on his lower lip in a way that suggested he was about to do something that would amuse him greatly.

Sir Gregory Thames was a short, round man with bristly sideburns and a face reddened by overindulgence of the champagne. His small eyes were not quite the same shape, but he had a pleasant, closed-mouthed smile. His face deepened in color he saw us approach, but he straightened his back and offered a wider smile.

I felt rather embarrassed for the man. He'd sent me a rather heart-felt—if a little silly—letter, and he'd had to find out that he'd been beaten to the punch by a more endowed, more handsome man.

"Your Majesty," He said, bowing to me, then to Reaver. "Your Grace. I must congratulate you on your union. It is a happy day indeed. The white of the snow must surely be an omen to the purity of your marriage."

"Oh, I so wish I had a way with words as you do, Sir Gregory," Reaver said, clapping the man on the shoulder. He tilted his head in my direction before his eyes took me in greedily. "My bride looks beautiful, does she not?"

"The epitome of loveliness, Your Grace," Sir Gregory agreed.

"Yes...her dress is made of silk...or satin..." Reaver trailed off. "Perhaps some other fine fabric that shines, I am not sure." His voice was smooth with only an edge of mockery.

A plump, ripe tomato would have looked pale compared to Sir Gregory's face. He tugged at his collar, and cleared his throat, nodding.

"Love," I interjected, trying to spare the blushing man's feelings. "Men do not care for the fabric of a woman's dress. Do not bore Sir Gregory with such frivolous ramblings." I turned my eyes to him, giving him a warm, nearly apologetic smile.

"It is a lovely dress," Sir Gregory commented. He blinked softly, and he bowed once more. "Excuse me." He left swiftly, followed by a small entourage of equally unfortunate-looking men.

"I think that the time has come, wife of mine," Reaver started, eying the crowd. "For us to take our leave. The night is coming to a close, and no one will fault us for turning in early." He leaned toward me, his breath brushing my neck as he placed a stealthy kiss against my jaw. "I may _burst_ if I am forced to wait much longer."

I glanced about the room, and I saw that the party was indeed dwindling. It brought me great relief to know that everything was drawing closer to its end. I would never have imagined that I would be wishing so fervidly for my wedding day to be through, but I was. It was a strain on my patience, my mind, and my heart. I felt Reaver's hand slide across my lower back, and he drew me to his side once more.

I could overhear some of the older ladies talking. A pair of women that had far passed their prime spoke in low, snippy voices, their hawk-like eyes finding victims to prey on. They fell upon Reaver and me, and I couldn't help but listen in.

"I never figured Reaver for the marrying type," said Lady Bella Townsend. She had given us a warm congratulations on our way into the reception, but she seemed slightly disdainful now. "He always seemed to be into the most depraved sort of debauchery."

"Yes," agreed her friend, bringing her glass to her lips. "I heard that years ago, he was having an affair with the Quitmans."

"Which?"

"_Both_."

The ladies dissolved into a tizzy of laughter until one of them noticed that I had overheard the conversation concerning my husband. I raised my eyebrows, almost daring them to continue. They offered a pair of the most insincere smiles I'd ever seen, then saw themselves away from the area.

I turned to Reaver, and I nodded my head, "I think it is time to find our way out of this mess."

"Come, my bride," He said. "I have some of the most _depraved_ sort of debauchery to subject you to." He grinned, his eyes following the women out of the room.

* * *

As soon as the door closed behind us, Reaver spun me around to pull at the laces that fastened my gown. He dragged my body against his, the smooth firmness of his mouth finding my ear, then my neck, then my shoulder. The soft scrape of his teeth against my flesh sent goose bumps across my body, and I groaned softly, leaning into his touch. There was a significant amount of built-up anticipation bottled within me, and I could see from the dark glint in Reaver's eyes, that he shared my frustration. His hands pushed the dress firmly off of my shoulders and down to my hips. The corset that bound me proved to be a little more difficult to unlace, but he still managed to release me from its confines faster than anyone else could have.

As he removed the corset from my body, he twirled me to face him. His fingers found my chin, and he brought my gaze to him. "I hope that your exhaustion has passed, my dear. What is to come will require your full, undivided attention." He smirked. "All of that ceremony and banal formality is through. _This, _I am sure, will be the pinnacle of the day." His fingers danced across the curve of my hip, sliding beneath the skirts and petticoats I was left in.

I reached to touch him, laying my hand across his chest, then I worked his cravatout of its knot. I said nothing, but I felt everything. His searing touch ignited my body and my mind. The day was over, and the stress of the events leading up to the wedding had melted away. The buttons of his waistcoat and shirt were simple enough to handle, and I pushed everything off of him at once.

He pressed me against his bare chest, my softness conforming to the hard planes of his torso. The petticoats fell to the ground, and he lifted me to wrap around his waist. Our faces were level, now, and our mouths touched with a fierce need. A ripple of urgency ran through me, and I ran my fingers through the dark silk of his hair, pulling him ever closer.

Reaver was moving toward the bed, and after breaking off from the kiss, he deposited me swiftly against the softness of the feather mattress. He removed his trousers as a wide, flawless grin tugged at his mouth. He grabbed one of my legs at my calf, and he hoisted it in the air, his fingers teasing and stroking me through my hosiery. He pulled each of the fine satin slippers off of my feet, and rolled the silk stockings off of my thighs and down my legs.

I sat up, and I seized him by the waistband of his underpants, bringing his hips toward me. My fingers danced up his sides, almost tickling at his ribs and down the sculpted perfection of his stomach. He shuddered beneath my touch, but his eyes fixated on me with a sober clarity, wanting to know what I intended on doing.

I tugged at his underclothes, and I took him into my mouth without hesitation. A little laughter bubbled out of me as a sigh of pleasure left him. The thickness of him was almost too much to handle, but his noises of enjoyment urged me on. One hand moved up the back of his thigh, and the other rested at his hip, following their rhythm as he moved with my mouth.

"Oh, I can see that I am going to enjoy marriage," He said, his voice thick with desire.

I brought my eyes up to him, and I found that he still stared down to me, though his eyes had softened, the lids threatening to shut out of enjoyment. His tongue moved across his lips, and he brought a hand to my cheek.

I continued to explore his manhood with my mouth—licking and sucking and kissing—until he gently parted me from him. He pushed me, gently enough to be considered playful, yet hard enough to cause me to gasp, back into the fat feather-stuffed mattress. His body covered mine, and he claimed my mouth hungrily.

A groan escaped me as I parted my thighs, allowing him to settle between them. My body trembled with anticipation beneath his. I never knew that I could crave someone so badly. No one else had ever made me feel so alive with passion. I was completely at his mercy, and as most people knew, Reaver was not a merciful man.

He teased my flesh, his fingers barely gliding across the ample mounds of my breasts. He drew from my mouth to lay soft, fluttering kisses down the length of my neck. The gasp I gave in return seemed to satisfy him, for he kept at his task, his fingers dipping further and further down until he met with the source of my heat. As he slid a finger inside of me, he nipped at my neck, drawing long and hard on the flesh.

I squeaked with surprise and delight, and I tilted my head back. "Reaver..."

"Yes, my dear?" He breathed against my neck, his lips still brushing against me as he spoke.

"I..." I paused as a second finger joined the other, and a rush of heat spread through me. I parted my thighs further, allowing him to pleasure me more deeply. "Oh..." My voice was husky and sultry, but no more words would come.

"Have I rendered you speechless, my sweet wife?" He asked. I could feel that his lips tightened into a smirk against me. "What is it that you require?" His tongue flicked out of his mouth, lathing against my collarbone.

"_You_," I managed to exhale amidst the moans he coaxed from me with every stroke of his fingers.

A small bubble of contented laughter rang out against me, and he nodded. "That, my dear, is something that I am most capable of providing." He withdrew his hand only to replace it with his bare, unprotected manhood. He pushed himself up, supporting himself on one arm, as he gathered up one of my legs in the other, wrapping me half-way around him. As he filled me, a low noise of satisfaction left him.

The sensation was so very different. I could feel the very heat of him as I never had before, and I sucked in a lungful of air. My arms snaked around his neck, pulling him close, and I arched my hips upward. I truly had needed this, just as he'd stated in the carriage.

"Oh, darling..." It was a half-moan as he forged his rhythm within me. He seemed to be unable to hold back the small groans that came with each stroke of his glorious manhood. He pressed his lips tightly together, and he buried his face in the curve of my neck, his breath coming in slow, shaky bursts against my flesh. He lifted his mouth to the side of my face. "This feeling alone was worth the delay of the party..." His grip around my thigh tightened, pulling my hips nearly up off of the bed.

I wrapped my other leg around him, pulling him as close as our bodies would allow. We moaned in unison, and he left a flurry of desperate kisses along my jaw and down my neck as his hips steadily increased the rhythm. My body followed his, and together, we forged a steady, deep cadence that left us both panting.

As I felt the peak of release building within me, I slid my hands down his back, my fingers digging into the flesh of his magnificent backside, urging him to drive himself deeper and more vigorously. A small chuckle of satisfied male pride escaped him, and he drew back. Before I could protest, he dragged my hips against his, the new angle of our union taking my breath away. "Oh, gods..." I gasped.

His fingers closed around my hips, guiding me against his body. His strength was massive, and the result was dizzying. Truth be told, his thrusts might have broken a lesser person, but I was far more resilient than others with my Heroic constitution. His dark eyes held mine, a silent command to lose myself emanating from his very expression.

My body writhed and trembled as I neared the carnal precipice. I sucked in a hasty breath before a wave of overwhelming release rocketed through my body. I closed my eyes tightly, and a cry of pleasure tore through me. It was much louder than I would have liked, but Reaver's grip on my body tightened and a similar, though slightly more restrained, noise left him. I quivered as my body settled back against the mattress, and Reaver's hips slowed. His hands loosened their grip on me.

My muscles fell slack, and my eyes opened slowly. Reaver's mouth was fixed into a grin that tested the integrity of his cheeks. His eyes were filled with a bright, burning mirth, and when he saw I was looking at him with a questioning face, he laughed.

His hands slid beneath my body, pulling me to straddle him and rest against his chest. My body tightened around him, but he stilled, giving me time to catch my breath and steady the pounding of my heart. "I am sure you have the guards posted in the hallway in a state of incitement, my dear," His voice was warm and nearly playful.

I licked my lips, pulling back to look at his face, raising a brow.

"Honestly, darling..." he chuckled. "Anyone within earshot very likely heard your glorious arrival, I am sure." He pushed a stray strand of hair from my face.

My cheeks burned, and a timid smirk spread across my mouth.

"It is our wedding night. The whole castle surely knows what is happening within this room at present. Though, I daresay the men are probably unable to focus," He added. "The noises that I manage to coax from their fair Queen are so ethereally captivating." His fingers trailed down my spine, and he laid a hot, kiss against my throat as he urged my body to move against his.

I rocked my hips, grinding myself against his arousal, coaxing a lustful noise from him. His hands moved to cup my backside, pushing me further down on his luscious thickness. My thighs clenched around him. Our bond was tight and my rhythm was slow and tortuous, yet deep and intense.

His fingers dug into the flesh of my backside, and his frustration was clear in the tightness of his mouth. He did as I wished, letting me have my way with him for a few minutes, though I hardly doubted it was unpleasant for him. The longer he waited, the tighter his grip became until he finally withdrew and threw me backward into the bed. His fingers encircled my wrists, pinning them above my head, taking control back once and for all.

A sharp breath of surprise pushed its way from my lungs, but it was followed by a fluttering thrill in my gut. As he plunged himself into my depths again, he groaned without abandon. The sound of his pleasure magnified my own, and I arched my body upward against him.

My heart pounded in my throat, as his body picked up its pace, now moving with a bit more urgency. I unraveled around him, the intense, speedy movements stoking the flames of my desire until they combusted. My head tipped backward as I cried out his name. His hold on my wrists tightened, and I felt his mouth at my neck, desperately kissing and nipping anywhere he could reach.

The sound of his breathing grew more erratic and heated as he carried himself closer to his own completion. He gritted his teeth, a groan of blissful agony erupting from him. He shuddered with release as he spilled himself inside of me, and a string of hot, uninhibited cries forced their way through him. His body slowed, then eventually stilled. He lay breathlessly against me, our bodies still merged as he rested his head in the crook of my neck.

Reaver's fingers loosened from around my wrists, and he sighed with satisfaction. He let his body press down into mine, and I could feel the wild rhythm of his heart against me. A hand drifted to my face, his thumb sweeping across my mouth, and a small hum of laughter stirred his stillness. He lifted his head to find my gaze, and he exhaled. His eyes were hazy with the drugging fulfillment of completion, but his mouth was fixed into its usual bright smirk.

"Why are you grinning?" I asked, his humor obviously contagious. I felt my own mouth pulling into a smile

"Ah, _ma belle_," he said. "If I told you, it would take the fun out of it." He leaned to kiss the peak of my breast tenderly.

I closed my eyes, and for a moment, our embrace felt not only physically intimate, but emotionally as well. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, Reaver was withdrawing and moving to roll onto bed. I stretched my body, and my hand sought his wrist. "Where do you think you're going?" I opened my eyes, and I raised a brow at him.

"Simply recovering, darling," He said. "I require at least a few moments to gather my senses before ravishing you once more."

I rolled onto my side, and he did the same. His eyes drifted down my body, and he rested a hand on my hip, his fingertips brushing back and forth against my flesh. I chewed on my lower lip as his touch drifted further up my body, caressing my breasts, then suddenly back down to my hips. He pulled me possessively toward him, and his fingers splayed across my backside in a way that very clearly said '_mine.'_

His mouth started a slow string of kisses toward mine until he claimed me once more. The heat of his body was nothing compared to the white-hot tension that built within me. An urgent noise left me as he pressed my back into the bed once more.

"Do not fret, darling," He assured me. "I do not plan on leaving you unfulfilled."

Through the night, he worked at proving the truth to his words, and when he finally slipped out of my bedchambers, I was fully exhausted but sated. I lay on my stomach, my eyes heavy with exhaustion and sleep claimed me without much effort.

**A/N: A wedding and a wedding-night lemon in one chapter! Yay! Okay, so I'd like to thank Angelacm for being my amazing beta this chapter and for pulling me out of the citrusy slump I was in. I'd also like to thank all of those that have been reviewing. I love to hear what you think, so leave me a review with your thoughts! **


	11. Afraid of the Dark

-Chapter Eleven-

_The darkness in my mind was thick and suffocating. It had been the same nearly every night. I did not dream as I once had. My dreams were deep and inescapable as I was blinded in blackness, left only with haunting sounds and voices to perpetuate the nightmare. I struggled for breath, feeling a thick, icy noose of shadow wrapped around my throat. No matter how much I tried to free myself , it got tighter and tighter. A throbbing pain worked its way through my limbs, and I drew them against my body as I trembled in the cold. _

_"How could you marry that man?" It was Elliot's voice that haunted me this night. So young, but full of a sadness that I'd never heard from him while he was alive. "Has sending me to my death changed you so much that you would stoop that low?"_

_I couldn't speak, the tightness around my neck had ensured my silence I wanted to apologize, to explain to him that Reaver hadn't been to blame for his death, to plead with him to stay with me. _

_"You couldn't stand up to Logan. Not even for __**me**__. I thought you loved me!"_

_"Please..." I managed to rasp. "I'm so sorry..."_

_"You should be," He said. "You should be __**ashamed**__!"_

_For a moment, the shame crept over me, smothering me along with the shadow. _

_"I wanted to marry you, Keira," His voice was thick with the sound of withheld tears. "I wanted to give you my life, but you let your brother take it away...And now you're with the man that poisoned your brother's mind."_

_"Yes," chimed in Logan's stern voice. "You seem to be able to forgive that wretched man's darkness, but you could not pardon mine?"_

_The sound of his voice was bittersweet. It had been so long since I'd heard him, I couldn't quite remember precisely how he'd sounded. It was so very clear now, but his words cut like a knife in my heart. I could not bear to hear this. "Logan..." I struggled to speak once more._

_"Do not make excuses, Keira," He said. "I lay in agony because you could not allow me a chance for redemption. I am condemned to the eternal void of darkness __**because of you**__."_

_My heart wrenched inside of my chest. I wanted to apologize, to hold him. I wanted so very badly to take back my ruling, to have my brother back._

_"I was the only family that you had left, and you put me before a line of soldiers that hated me. My death was not quick, sister...they did not aim mercifully."_

_The feeling of darkness was flooding me, stripping away any warmth that might have been left in my body. I was filled with the cold rush of the shadow, and the throbbing pain made an intense transition into a sharp, cutting agony. I tried to scream, but my throat was filled with the thick, unforgiving darkness._

_"You betrayed us..." Their voices rang together. _

_Cold, long-dead hands gripped my arms, the flesh hard and drawn tight across skeletal fingers. Their hold cut into my skin, and I could feel myself being dragged downward into a sea of dark. I was going to die alone, unable to scream, unable to save myself..._

I bolted upright in bed, my heart pounding ferociously against my ribs. My dream had been painfully chilling, yet I woke drenched with perspiration. I could barely draw in enough oxygen to fuel the hysterical sobbing that escaped from me. I covered my face, trying to muffle the sounds.

The nightmares had been steadily getting worse over the past few months. I'd had a reprieve for a short while after the wedding, but now, nearly five months later, I found myself afraid to go to sleep. My body, as well as my mind had been suffering. I was weak and lethargic most days, my Heroic vigor was consumed by my exhaustion, and my stomach was a constant jumble of nerves.

Jasper had tried to convince me to see a physician, but I knew that there was nothing that could be done. Medicine could not help the plague of darkness on my soul. The sleeping droughts, herbs and teas that Kalin had suggested did nothing but make it more difficult to wake from my nightmares, so I'd stopped taking them.

I let myself fall back into the pillows, and I turned to face the empty side of my bed. I reached a hand out to stroke the crisp, tucked edges, and I sighed. My loneliness had been a constant source of frustration, but I knew very well what I'd agreed to when I'd made my commitment to Reaver. He seemed to have become even more withdrawn lately. He often took short trips to all corners of Albion, stating that he had urgent business to attend to.

I thought that perhaps he was growing frustrated with the fact that I had not yet conceived a child. It had been months since we'd actively started trying, but nothing took root. I had even seen physicians for answers, and there was no reason they could see that I would not be able to bear many children. They suggested that it could merely be stress, and that only compounded it.

I curled up, closing my eyes, and I let out a shaky breath. The tears and sweat stung my eyes, so I brought a hand up to wipe them all away. I needed to try to sleep again, but I pried my eyes open once more. It was still pitch dark outside of my window, but a lamp shone brightly in the corner of my room. I was thankful for it. I'd had enough blackness in my dreams. I didn't need it when I was awake as well.

I rolled over once again, my restless muscles aching to stretch and walk, but I was determined to find some sort of rest. I needed to try to be healthy. I needed to breach the growing chasm between Reaver and me. Perhaps a child would cement our future. As of now, I was unsure of what he felt for me…or didn't feel.

He was protective—perhaps possessive. That could not be denied. While Wesley—the artist—finished his portrait of me Reaver had hung around the edge of the room, watching the flirtatious artist with fierce hawk-like eyes. He would interject whenever the conversation veered toward the unprofessional, and when I had breaks to walk around the room or eat, Reaver was there, touching me, holding me, kissing me. He had made certain to emphasize to Wesley that I was _his_.

On the nights when Reaver shared my bed, my nightmares were more bearable. I would be so exhausted after he left my bedchambers for his own, that I would drift off to sleep without much effort or worry. My nightmares were always dim, restrained, and a little brighter, but they did not go away completely. Perhaps they never would. Maybe I would have to live with the guilt of my actions for an eternity. Those whom I had wronged were no longer around to forgive me.

I threw the blankets off of my body, and I pushed myself out of bed. I knew that sleep would only bring more terrors. I thought perhaps a walk around the room would bring on a deeper exhaustion, but I found myself searching for something else.

I shuffled toward the bookshelf, and I eyed the volumes that I'd collected over the years. I'd read them all a dozen times each, especially as of late. I reached for one that I hadn't read in a few weeks, and I moved to sit in the corner, where the light was more concentrated. I could read until my eyes grew heavy. Perhaps that would be enough to stave off the shadowy dreams.

The book's pages were old and worn, but it had been a favorite of my mother's. It was a collection of old gypsy tales. She had been taught to read with this very book, she'd told me. When Logan and I were younger, she would gather us up onto her lap and read us our favorites. They were little more than children's tales with a moral at the end of the story, but they made me think of my mother.

I tried to push sadness and guilt from my heart and fill it with something else. Something light. Albion had been thriving under my union with Reaver. With his workers appeased, Reaver's factories had increased productivity exponentially. The other towns and villages could only express agreement with my decisions and reign thus far. A few had even mentioned how glad they were that such a poisonous man like Timothy Goulding had been brought to justice, especially when it had been brought to light that he'd tried to raise mercenaries against me.

I tried with great difficulty to read through the book, but my eyes were too tired, and my mind was too full of other thoughts. I closed the book hastily, and I shoved it back into its place on the shelf. I found myself standing before my vanity, and I took a seat, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. My skin was pale and lackluster, and my eyes were dark and perpetually tired. I tucked my hair away from my face, and I exhaled softly. I could only hope that with time, my nightmares would subside.

The next few days in my schedule would be rather open. Perhaps I would be able to leave the grounds. I found myself missing the heat and sunlight of Aurora. Kalin had invited me for a visit directly after the wedding, but Reaver had declined for me, suggesting that in such transitional times, I remain in Albion. Now, the elapsed time was starting to feel like a weight on my chest.

I would broach the topic with Reaver once more, perhaps in the morning. I wouldn't be asking him. I would be informing him of my plans to go. A small part of me had hoped that he would join me. Then again, another part of me just wanted time for myself. I would have to weigh the options in my mind when I was feeling a little less ragged.

I moved toward the wardrobe, opening the doors. My robe hung neatly on its hook, and I shrugged it on. I thought that maybe Reaver might be as restless as I was. He didn't seem to require as much rest as most other people. He even worked late most nights before coming by my bedchambers to share my bed for a few hours. Perhaps he would be in a generous mood.

When I exited the room, the hallway was eerily empty. Raising my lamp, I glanced both ways, and I saw that the guards had been posted at the far end of the wing that contained mine and Reaver's suites. I pressed my lips together in a soft frown, and I wondered why the patrol had strayed so far. I banished the thought from my mind, and I moved down the hall, Reaver's room now in sight.

As I moved closer, I heard murmuring coming from within. I furrowed my brow, trying to make out what was being said. My hand closed around the knob, and I turned it silently. I gently pushed the door open without a sound, but a woman's gasp broke the near-quiet.

My limbs stiffened, and my heart pounded in my throat. My stomach churned violently, and I felt short of breath I nearly dropped my lamp, but instead I clenched fiercely onto the handle as my hand trembled with fury. I couldn't say anything. I was shocked, frozen. I drew in a shaky breath as my eyes surveyed the scene.

Reaver had Constance, my handmaiden bent over, gripping the post of the great, wooden bed. He had her dark hair gathered up in his hand, and he turned his attention toward me. His eyebrows raised, and his hips slowed. He hadn't bothered retreating from his place deep within the blushing maid, but she was trying to untangle herself from him, her eyes not meeting with mine. She was ashamed. I closed my gaping mouth, and I backed away slowly.

"Oh," He said. "Hello, darling ... I can honestly say that I was not expecting _you_ on this night."

A hot rush of sadness and anger swept over me, threatening to spill out all at once. My fists tightened, and I tried to look away. But I couldn't.

"Come, dear. There is no harm in you joining us," he said, a smirk uncurling across his face. "Perhaps you would enjoy-"

I backed swiftly out of the room and closed the door. My stomach dropped, and I turned to march back toward my room. My breathing had become labored, and I could feel an ache spreading through my chest. Why had I been so surprised when I opened the door? Could I have honestly believed that Reaver would have been faithful to me? It was a silly piece of paper that tied us to one another. There was no tangible connection other than our passion and lust. What hold could I possibly have on him?

I shoved my door open, and I felt a tear trickling down my face. I slammed the door loudly, and I set the lamp on a nearby table. I paced across the room, wiping my leaking eyes, and cursing myself, my heart. I steadied myself against the post of my bed, and I was suddenly reminded of the scene. I recoiled, and I returned to the vanity.

My face was red, as were my eyes, and I rubbed them, trying to stem the flow of my tears. I hurried quickly to my wardrobe, and I pulled out the first suitable clothes for travel. I needed space...from everything.

I struggled for breath. I was sinking and suffocating once more. Perhaps even in the waking realm I would not be safe from my nightmares. My hand trembled as I snatched a black leather waist cinch, and I found a pair of leather leggings that would be good for traveling in the cold. I pulled on the clothes, putting on a red linen shirt and a pair of knee-high boots. I still wasn't sure where I planned on going, but I needed to leave the palace quickly.

Braiding my hair, I thought of my options. Confronting Reaver could be disastrous, but letting the situation go on would only let things fester and worsen.

I found that my mouth was dry and the trembling of my limbs left me fumbling and distracted. I poured myself a large tumbler of Reaver's whiskey. It wet my mouth, but it burned all the way down. I could only hope that it would take the edge off of my flurry of emotion. I replaced the cork in the bottle, and I decided that I needed to chase the drink with a glass of water.

Once I felt a little more steady, I grabbed a few essentials—a coat, an extra pair of stockings, and I looped a thick black scarf around my neck. Wherever I decided to go, at this time of night, it would undoubtedly be cold.

_"A Queen would not abandon her duty for something as frivolous as heartache..." _

I glanced around the room, puzzled. I was alone. It was a fleeting thought, I rationalized. Though, I could have sworn that Logan had been in the room with me. I wrung my hands together, and I took a final look around my chambers. _Empty_.

I heard the door to my bedchambers open softly, and I turned. Reaver stood in the doorway, wearing only a robe. He had a cigarette tucked between his lips, and he ran a hand over his messy hair. His skin was flushed, and his brow was dewy with sweat from the exertion. The smell of another woman clung to him like a musky, sickening perfume, and it made me sick to my stomach.

"You left in a hurry," He remarked, closing the door quietly. He leaned against it, and he raised an eyebrow to me as he took in my appearance. "Do you have plans to go somewhere, my pet?" His hands went to his hips.

The trembling anger rose within me once more, and I clenched my jaw. I took in a few deep breaths, trying to allow my temper to subside before I spoke. I would not make

"Are you upset?" he asked, displaying his _masterful_ skill of observation. He crossed the room, taking a drag off of his cigarette.

"You come _now_?" I asked, my voice wavering, betraying my anger in favor of a sad tone. "After I find you...buried inside of someone else, you wait to come and see if I may be upset?"

"Well, I had to finish," he chuckled. "It would sour my mood I were to simply stop in the middle."

I glowered in his direction.

"You _are_ upset," He said, sounding almost intrigued. He reached a hand to cup my face.

I batted it away, and I shook my head. I jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction. "Don't touch me, Reaver. I am in no mood." My tears nearly started once more, but I managed to reel them in.  
"That is painfully obvious, now," he retorted, stamping his cigarette out in an empty glass by the bar. "I simply do not understand why you take such offense-"

"Spare me the act, Reaver," I interjected sharply.

His eyes darkened, and his mouth pulled into a tight line of dismay. He did not speak at first, but his expression told me that he had not appreciated being interrupted. "What is it that has you so flustered over this?"

I huffed heatedly. "Our contract-"

"Only stipulated _your _fidelity," He interrupted me in turn. "You really must pay attention to the details of what you sign, my dear, for it was written clear as day."

My hand collided with the side of his face. From the way my palm stung, I knew that the blow had not been soft. "I am not stupid, Reaver. I simply thought you had more honor."

"You say that you are not stupid, and yet you follow it by saying something to disprove it," He hissed, his hand rubbing the reddening side of his face. "Do not impose your honor on me. I have dealt with that sort of expectation in the past, and my allies have all been sorely disappointed."

"Why would you seek the company of another woman?" I asked. Somehow, I knew that no matter what was said, I would not like the answer, but I felt I deserved to know. "What is your excuse?"

"In all honesty, my dear, I do not have an excuse," He said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I see no wrong in what you witnessed. Before you agreed to marry me, you knew precisely what my lifestyle entailed, and you still accepted to entwine yourself into it."

I said nothing, but my face was hot with the furious blood pulsing through my body. My arms were rigid at my sides, and I held his dark gaze with mine.

"If it brings you comfort," He started, sauntering closer. "I will have you know that...ah...what _is_ her name...?" He brought a hand to his mouth, and he looked toward the ceiling, as if genuinely trying to remember.

"Constance," I told him through gritted teeth. "My lady-in-waiting."

"Ah, yes. _That_ was the name. Constance." He seemed almost amused, and he caught me in his hands before I could wriggle away.

I tensed all over, and I found that the trembling, seething anger was showing its head once more. The tears I hadn't wanted to shed were now pooling in the corners of my eyes, burning.

"Constance did not bring me to my end nearly as masterfully as you can, my-"

I drove my knee swiftly into his groin, and when he recoiled, sucking in a hasty breath of air, I summoned the light of my Will to carry me off to my sanctuary.

When I found myself on solid ground once more, I opened my eyes. The main room was empty, and I walked off in the direction of my armory.

The weapons shined in the dull lamplight. Jasper had kept them in peak condition, and I moved to grab my favorites. My mother's sword had been a finely crafted katana, and it fit my hand perfectly. I chose it, fastening the belt and scabbard around my waist, and I picked up my Dragonstomper. I turned it over in my hand, and I remembered the conversation Reaver and I once had regarding it.

_"I am an avid collector, you must know," he had said, a grin spreading across his mouth as he inspected the weapon. "I have all but one, and this one, my pet, is the prime example of perfection...Much like its owner."_

I remembered how his words had affected me. I should have kept better watch over my heart, as Reaver had once suggested. I shouldn't have let him ensnare it so easily and stealthily.

_"Such weakness,"_ Logan's voice chimed.

A cold feeling spread through my gut, and I shoved the pistol into its holster.

* * *

-Reaver-

The hinges cried out in protest as the door slammed behind me. The nerve of that woman! After all that I'd done for her, she dares to leave me? Could she not see how childish she was acting? I picked up a crystal tumbler with intent to pour myself a rather large drink, but in my anger, it shattered between my fingers. Cursing, I flicked the slivers of crystal from my hand, and I paced across the room.

How was this _my_ error? She knew the type of man I was—my diverse tastes. She did not seem so averse to it when I first took her to bed. What was different now? The vows we'd exchanged were merely words, and she'd known it. What silly reason could she have for taking such offense?

I spun on my heel to pace to the other side of the room, careful to avoid the sharp mess on the floor. Keira acted as if I'd actually cared for _Constance_. That maid had been nothing. A mere passing fancy to keep me occupied in the late hours. She'd been giving me lustful looks the entirety of my stay at the palace, and I had vaguely remembered taking her to bed once or twice before. She was not hesitant to join me in my chambers this night, nor the others this week.

Moving toward the mirror, I surveyed my face. It was red and slightly swollen from the force of her slap, and my mouth twisted into a scowl of frustration. Keira's energy and vigor had been dwindling these past months, and I frankly did not feel satisfied. How could_ I_ be to blame for such unfortunate circumstances?

I ran a finger across the red hand print, and I exhaled. Had I truly caused her pain? A flutter of concern crossed my face, but I wiped it away. She would come around, undoubtedly. We were bound by more than a contract, and we both had known that. Our marriage would take quite a bit of effort to dismantle, and I doubted that she would want to put herself—and her _"people"_-through the shame that a divorce would bring.

For a moment I thought perhaps she might seek out another man as retribution. That brought out a seething jealousy that I hadn't expected, but I hastily justified it with the fact that she'd agreed to be mine. I knew well that I did not posses the capacity to simply share _my _things. She signed the contract, explicitly promising that she would not take another man into her bed...or anywhere else. She was honest to a fault—a woman of her word. I pitied people with such binding honor. It never worked in one's own favor. Honor was about sacrifice for the good of the people, and I was not one for that sort of nonsense.

My jaw tightened, and I glanced back to the door, wondering where she had gone off to. She was not gone forever, I was sure. She would be back, and perhaps after a bit of time to cool her temper, she would come to her senses and realize that the maid had meant nothing. She was merely a placeholder.

I ran a hand over my disheveled hair, and I curled a lock around my finger, trying to get it to fall just so. I stopped. The effort was pointless. I would see no one else on this night. My temperament was far too soured now to entertain company without the possibility of losing my composure and letting my more homicidal tendencies slip. I was Keira's King, now, and unfortunately that did not mingle well with my affinity for recreational violence.

My frustration with her anger was compounded by her sudden exit. She hadn't allowed me time to explain...or subdue her. This was not the first time I'd been confronted by jealous lovers. I, in the past, had been forced to become an expert in the art of emotional evasion. Women were jealous creatures—men equally so, if not a tad bit more. I danced the steps of subtlety when necessary, but I did not believe that would have been the case with Keira. She had known about Penelope—though not _all_ of the details of that relationship—and she hadn't seemed to mind.

But now she was angry, upset—exceedingly so. Her rage had been focused into the rather rude knee to my groin, and I had been left catching my breath as she ran off to wherever it was she went. It infuriated me that she got the last word...or rather blow. Twice she had struck me. To attack my face was one grievous error, but my manhood...Why that was a completely _separate_ offense. If she had been anyone else, she would not have had the opportunity to use her loathsome Will powers. She would have met the fury of my Dragonstomper.

I was puzzled as to why I gave this much thought to her feelings, and that was also frustrating. She left me with a curious wedge of something unpleasant in my gut. I moved once more to the bar, avoiding the remnants of my previous glass, and I poured myself a proper drink with a gentle hand The drink stung as it went down, but it was a relief to feel something other than my anger.

**A/N: Sorry this one took a while! I had a bunch of stuff going on, and it took a while to get polished! As always, thanks so much for the reviews and follows/faves! I hope you enjoy!**


	12. Run Away

**-Chapter Twelve-**

The mountain air had become much thinner at this heightened elevation. I had left Mistpeak days ago, moving further and further south. I felt so very alone, but it was also a relief. My hysteria had settled into a deep sadness, and I was free to breathe, cry, and be weak. I didn't feel like The Queen of Albion this far away from civilization. I spent my nights watching the evergreen treetops swaying in the breeze. It soothed my restlessness, yet I still had trouble sleeping. Below, the world was temperate and full of summer vigor and life, but high atop the mountains, the endless winter was desolate and so very cold.

I had been traveling for days, moving up the mountains then down again, following a path, then discovering its end. I kept moving south. I wasn't sure where I was going, or what I even planned on doing once I got there, but I knew that I had to get away, if only for a little while. I couldn't return to the palace until I had a better grip on myself. I'd been slowly unraveling over the past few days, and I couldn't very well return to my place on the throne while such madness clung to my mind.

"You realize that this is useless," said Logan's voice. "You cannot abandon your duty. You are still just a little girl playing at being a queen."

I ignored the delusion. It had been haunting me all this time, but I still had yet to address it directly. If I acknowledged it, would that make it real? I tightened my grip on my walking stick, and I pressed my dry, chapped lips together, attempting to moisten them. I could not tell the difference between reality and the tricks that my mind played on me. Was this a symptom of my insomnia, or was I truly going mad?

"This is crazy," I whispered to myself.

The thought that this may be a figment of my imagination was more comforting than to think of Logan as a ghost. Ghosts were condemned to walk the world until their business was finished, and I supposed Logan would have a fair bit of unfinished business. Then again, I had encountered ghosts in my previous travels, and this...thing pretending to be Logan did not feel like a mere ghost.

"I don't think I can suffer its presence much longer," I continued on to myself.

"Your suffering is nothing compared to mine," Logan said, his voice tight.

I, once again, ignored him. I looked over the ledge, down to the world below. The trees were more sparse, and they were less green, less lively. In the distance, I could see that a great black marsh enveloped the area, and I chewed on my lip. I'd heard horror stories about Wraithmarsh. My mother had been there, but she didn't speak much of it. As a child, I'd overheard her speaking about her time there to Walter. She said that The Hero of Skill, a man she'd all but stricken from the record of her life, had hoped to lead her to her death in its foul, black waters.

"You can ignore me, but I will not go away, Keira."

I whipped around, and I was surprised to see that a shadowy outline of my brother stood behind me. I brought a hand to my mouth as I gasped in horror. The bitter cold had stiffened my limbs, but a chill of terror surged through me. A sudden queasy weakness washed over me, and I hunched over, bracing myself on my walking stick. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that once I opened them, Logan would be gone.

"This isn't happening," I told myself hastily. "This is not real. This is all in my mind."

"You would prefer that you are crazy?" He asked. "That I am not truly here to make you face your sins?"

"Please...go away."

"All you have done since you took the throne is run away from yourself. You cannot run from me."

_The hell I can't._

I turned, and I broke out into a run down the mountain trail. It was thin and winding, but I navigated it fairly well. I tossed my walking stick to the side, as it only hindered my agility.

"You cannot run away from your past."His voice followed closely, causing my breath to hitch in my throat. I needed more distance between us. This was too much—too suffocating.

My feet skidded out from beneath me, and I tumbled down the last of the hills. I shouted and hissed in pain as I crashed limb over limb down the steepness of the foothills. I finally stopped rolling, landing in a patch of thick, dark swampy muck. My body ached all over, and I turned hesitantly onto my back, staring up to the grey fog-filled sky. I exhaled, laying in the foul-smelling mud for a few moments. Tears gathered in my eyes, blurring my vision, and I brought my muddy hands to my face. I hadn't realized that they were covered in the thick, black tar of the marsh until it was too late. I used the lapel of my coat to wipe at the filth, and when I looked up, he was still there.

"This place is infamous for harboring the most vicious of creatures," Logan said, leaning over to obscure my view of the sky. "You had better stop weeping like a child."

"Please leave me alone," I moaned, covering my eyes once more.

"Not until you realize the levity of the situation," He hissed. "You have passed judgment upon so many, but you do not fully grasp your choices."

"Logan, please go," I begged.

"I cannot," he breathed, suddenly sounding vehement. "I _cannot_ go back there, sister. This is my reprieve from the horrors to which _you_ condemned me."

I uncovered my face, and I saw that the shadowy face of my brother was filled with unspoken horror. He tore his dark eyes from me, and he turned. I reached out for him, but my hand passed right through his calf. Goosebumps raised across my body, and I pushed myself into a sitting position.

"If I must haunt you to escape the pain of damnation, so be it," He said, still faced away. "I wanted redemption, Keira. I might have had a chance at it, but you could not find it in your heart to forgive me."

"Logan-" A sob escaped me as I scrambled to my feet. "I am so sorry. Please...please forgive me."

"Forgiveness is for the living, Keira," He said grimly. "The dead have no use for it."

The words dead sank a cold dagger in my heart. He was so very right. He was dead because I had condemned him, just as I had condemned Elliot, along with so many others. How could I expect forgiveness from any of them?

"Come," he said. "We are in the land of The Shadows. Unless you wish to join me in the afterlife, I'd suggest that you get up."

I climbed to my feet with trembling limbs. I was covered in the dark sludge of the swamp, but my pack had clean clothes that I would be able to change into once I made camp. My clothes were sodden and heavy, making it difficult to move, and my tumble down the hillside had created a few rather large holes in my leggings and the sleeves of my coat.

I looked across the marsh. It was full of half-sunken buildings and pillars, and my mind flickered back to the tales of Oakvale and the horrible fate that had befallen it. All good sense told me to turn back, but a driving compulsion in my gut pushed me forward.

"Logan," I breathed softly.

"Yes?" He asked, turning to look at me again.

"Am I crazy?" It was half of a laugh, but tears gathered in the corners of my eyes once more. "Are you truly with me? If you are, why have you come? Is there any purpose to this?"

"You are on the verge, Keira," He said. "You must be shown the error of your ways. You must adapt to the world that is changing around you."

I continued forward, but the specter of Logan was slow to follow. I glanced back at him.

"The Shadows have a tight hold on this place," he said. "It is difficult for me to be in their presence. It reminds me of..." He trailed off, and the expression on his face looked pained. He avoided my gaze."You must continue on. Your fate has brought you here."

His words sent a tremor of terror through my bones, and I pressed my lips together. All this time I'd been struggling with my darkness, and now, somehow it felt as if it had manifested into the physical world. It surrounded me like an aura of sadness, and I found Logan once more. His face was solemn, and he nodded curtly.

I inhaled a breath, and I took my first few steps into the marsh, my legs feeling like jelly beneath me. I wasn't sure if any of this was real, but what did I have to lose?

* * *

**-Reaver-**

"Your Grace," said Hobson quietly. His hands were laced together, and his face was pallid and sweaty. "Have you heard from Her Majesty?

I turned my eyes from my work, utterly frustrated with the man's ineptitude. "If I'd heard from her, do you honestly think I would be here in her stead?" I motioned to the mounds of letters that had arrived since she'd disappeared four days ago. I had taken the reins of the kingdom, and it was not nearly as entertaining as I thought it would have been.

"I-I'm sorry, Your Grace," Hobson said, bowing softly. "Do you have any idea where she may be? I-"

"Are you quite through asking imbecilic questions, Mister Hobson?" I snapped. "No. I have no idea where my _wife_ is. Do you think that asking such questions of me will improve my temperament?"

"I apologize," Hobson continued, bowing. "If you'll excuse me, I will see to it that you will not be disturbed again."

"Yes. See to that, or you shall no longer have a job...or a life. I have shot people for lesser offenses, I'll have you know," I told him, waving my hand in a careless gesture of farewell. As he left the study in a panicked hurry, I found my glass of whiskey, and I swirled the amber liquid before finishing the drink. It stung pleasantly, and I returned my attention to the letters from well-wishers and concerned citizens.

The official story was that Keira had fallen ill, and she would be able to make a public appearance once she had recovered. The people simply _adored_ her, and that made this much more difficult. There were so many damned letters, it was nearly impossible to keep up with them. I had Murphy seeing to my duties in Industrial, having been left here with the job of a mere _secretary_. No one else could be trusted with this. Only a privileged few were aware that Keira was not, in fact, laying ill in her bed.

I cursed my wife bitterly as I sealed another letter, thanking some noble person for their concern and wishing them well in return. It grew more exhausting with each pleasantry I was forced to scribe until finally, I dropped the pen, flexing the cramping muscles in my hand.

"You truly have _fucked_ me, my sweet," I murmured, glancing to the newly-finished portrait of Keira that hung on the opposite wall of the desk. Wesley had done a masterful job of capturing her likeness. Her skin was flawless and pale, and those icy eyes looked demure, but strong all at once. Her mouth was the only flaw that I could spot. He'd made her lips too full, too brazen-looking. In reality, her lips were perfect in proportion to the rest of her face.

I shoved away from the desk, tearing my eyes from the painting. This was ridiculous. Her eyes followed me as I paced the room, and I glanced back to the work that still waited for me. The tension inside of me was strangling my concentration. I required relief. I was half-tempted to ask Hobson to bring someone to me, but I had not grown so soft in my new titles, that I needed someone to seduce another on my behalf. I much preferred instant gratification, but if I was forced to seek someone out personally, so be it.

As if perfectly timed, 'Lady' Constance entered the room, knocking gingerly on the door as it opened. Even though Hobson had failed miserably at the simple task of keeping my peace, the opportunity to find the release which I so desired presented itself. Hobson would still be dealt with at a later time. After all, I would not want to go back on my word.

"Your Grace," she said. Her thick, seductive voice was arousing as ever, and she looked spectacularly prepared for what I needed. Her breasts threatened to spill from the bodice of her tight dress, and her full, pouting lips were turned up into a smile.

"Ah, Constance," I said silkily, curling my finger and beckoning her forth . "You are truly clairvoyant, aren't you, my dear? I was just on my way to seek you out and…well, _here you are_."

She looked pleased to no end, and she closed the door behind her. She flounced across the room, her eyes fixed only on me. She was an obedient little thing, and I appreciated that about her. Lately, I had been unable to focus—probably in part to my extensive workload—and it was nice to have someone I needn't put much effort into seducing.

"Has the Queen not returned?" she asked softly, tilting her head. "I have heard nothing."

"Now, _why_ would you worry your pretty little head about that?" I questioned her, stroking a finger across her chin, drawing her near. Someone had told her, and I would need to root out the source. She hadn't been deemed important enough to know.

"She was very upset," She stated the obvious. "What if she..._divorces_ you? What would happen, then?" She sounded both worried and hopeful. I nearly clicked my tongue at the translucence of her intentions. This woman undoubtedly hoped that the connection we shared was more than it was. To be honest, she reminded me vaguely of poor, petulant Penelope.

"I suppose I would have to endure the ire of The Queen of Albion," I sighed, pouting softly. "I would hang my head in shame upon my return to Millfields, but my life should not change too much, I would imagine."

"But don't you fear that she might strip you of your titles?" She gasped, her eyebrows raising curiously.

"I was a man of leisure with more gold than I could possibly spend_ long_ before I was granted a title, my dear," I chuckled, circling an arm around her waist, pulling her body against me. "Keira...The Queen will never be able to take that away from me."

She breathed a sigh of relief, and she leaned into my chest, inhaling deeply. Oh, the poor thing was smitten. This sort of attachment worked both for and against me. On one hand, she was devoted, enthusiastic, and eager to please. On the other, she was straddling the line of becoming clingy and obsessive. I so hated clingy people, but they could be disposed of easily enough.

"Oh, Your Grace, I have never been so content as I have these past few days," She stated, her fingers trailing across the collar of my coat. "We've had the freedom to speak and make love as we wish."  
I winced at her choice of words, but I very quickly cleared my expression.

"I loved The Queen once," she told me, drawing away to look into my eyes. She was going to try to explain herself. It was petty and unnecessary. It would not change my opinion of her, no matter what he had to say. "I truly did…but I loved you first. When I saw how she mistreated you—neglected you—I could not bear it."

I supposed that from the outside, it did look rather like Keira had neglected me. Perhaps if the worst did come to pass, that would work in my favor. Who could blame a poor man, trapped beneath the boot of a cold, unfeeling ice queen when he only sought warmth and love? I almost smirked to myself, but I returned my attention to the prattling girl in my arms.

"She does not deserve you," She dared to say. "I would never treat you in such a way. I would see to it that The Queen would never be able to harm you, one way or another."

That intrigued me. I raised my eyebrows, and my mouth formed a soft 'o' of curiosity. "You realize that what you are suggesting is treason, don't you, darling?" I asked her.

Her eyes widened with fear, and she tried to draw away. Her eyes betrayed her emotion. She was terrified that she'd said the wrong thing. She had good reason to be, for the idea of this insignificant woman laying hands upon Keira had stirred something curious within me. Keira would crush her like an ant, and the thought almost amused me. In the past, I'd seen Keira take down a sand fury with not much more than a dainty flourish. This unskilled handmaiden had no chance against her. I stiffened at the thought of the two women fighting over me. It would, no doubt, be enjoyable to watch.

I smiled down to Constance, and I stroked her cheek. "Do not fret, darling. I was merely teasing you."

Her expression softened, and she exhaled, relieved.

"Now, I find myself full of tension," I told her, curling my fingers into the thick dark curls of her hair. As I guided her downward, she complied silently. I leaned myself on the edge of Keira's desk, and my eyes fixed on the small, pale woman as she freed me from my tightly tailored pants.

Her mouth was hot and eager in its ministrations, and I let out a soft groan of approval. This would clear my mind, I was sure. My eyes trailed up to the portrait of my wife once more. This time, I found a sadness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. I smirked, and I said softly, "Fuck you, _darling_."

Constance drew away from my manhood, her eyes wide and full of confusion. "What, Reaver?"

I chuckled, and I shook my head, my hand finding the back of her head. I guided her back to her duty, and I told her with a grin, "Nothing of your concern. Now…where _were_ you?"

* * *

The longer that this specter of Logan was in my presence, the more unsettled I became. It looked like him, spoke like him, even moved like him. While I changed into clean, dry clothes before treading any further into the marshes, he had turned his back and grumbled about 'common decency.'

As we moved deeper into the heart of Wraithmarsh, Logan walked at my side rather than behind me. His posture stiffened, and his face grew tense and tight. Each step became labored, and I stopped to face him

"If this hurts you, why do you not leave me?" I asked. "Or stay behind here? Why must you accompany me?"

His voice was strained, "Because if I do not see you to your destination, you will never make it alive." His eyes turned about the marsh. "Our mother was able to defeat the banshees, but only barely. They are repelled by my presence. You are safe as long as I am here."

Logan—my protector once more. Fonder memories of our youth came flooding back. I remembered watching him through a crack in the door, as he practiced his swordplay. He had to work so very hard to master his skills. My skills had always come more naturally. I enjoyed watching him all the same. When we were younger, still, it was Logan that I had sought out whenever I had nightmares. He would light a candle for me and read me a story until I fell asleep once more. Before he was Albion's tyrant King, he was such an astoundingly different man…a good, hopeful man with the best of intentions for his kingdom. My thoughts turned inward and I reflected upon myself. I, too, was a different person before I had taken his place. _What was I becoming now?_

My heart sank slightly, and I turned to look forward once more. We were walking through the sunken ruins of Oakvale, and a chill coursed through my body. "This place...do you know what happened to it?"

"I do," He said. "But that is not something I should reveal. The time for answers will come later. For now, you must press on ." His mouth fixed itself into a pained scowl, and he ushered me forward.

I found myself watching him wearily as we continued on. Was it possible for a shadowy figment to feel pain? Was it physical pain? Or pain on a spiritual level? A wedge of guilt formed in my gut, and I crossed my arms over my chest. "Why must I continue on? What must I see?"

"Some friends of your husband's," Logan said. "The Shadow Court."

"Reaver's _friends_?" I asked.

"There is a great deal that he has not told you, but I am sure you knew that already, sister—clever as you are," He said tightly.

He was right. There was so much I didn't know about Reaver. Perhaps if I would have sought these answers sooner, I would never have married him. I might never have felt this heartache. I pushed the sadness down, and I inquired, "Such as?"

"Reaver has been manipulating you this entire time," He said. "I should have had him killed long ago, but his resourcefulness and gold were useful to me. Now _you_ are useful to _him_."

The manipulation did not surprise me, and I silently waited for him to continue.

"He swayed your judgment with Timothy Goulding to his liking. He made you believe in false crimes…And he would also have you believe that the man's wife committed suicide."

My stomach twisted, and I felt nauseous. I should have known. Reaver had been too kind, too tender, too affected by her death. I should have known that it was all a farce. I said nothing, but my heart hammered in my chest. I wrapped my arms around myself, and I drew in a deep breath.

The silence grew between us, and the sounds of my boots sloshing through the runny mud were the only sounds in the swamp. The sun was sinking into the horizon, and I wondered how much further I needed to travel. I had followed Theresa under far more vague circumstances, but now, I was not certain of anything. This was Logan, after all, wasn't it? I found myself looking at him once more.

His phantom limbs seemed to tremble as we continued. His face was distorted in a mix of pain and panic. "We are nearly there," he managed to croak.

The stone building looked much like a temple, and I blinked softly as we approached it. A temple of shadow, I thought to myself. I chanced a glance in Logan's direction, and he looked absolutely ragged. His eyes were winced shut in pain, and his teeth ground together as he hunched over.

"Logan?" I asked.

"I should not continue, but I must," he groaned. "You need..."

"I can turn back. We don't need to continue, Logan," I said. "You can stay...I will learn to-"

"This is my purpose," He said, finding resolve once more. "Go." He held out a trembling arm to point toward the door.

I crossed the threshold, and Logan followed, crying out audibly as soon as he stepped foot into the domain of the shadows. My hand hovered over the hilt of my sword, ready to draw it at any moment. The place was full of darkness, and I summoned a fireball. It found its way to a torch, and eerily, the rest of the torches in the place ignited.

The centuries had not been kind to this place, and something in this place had not been kind to its visitors. There were bones—whole, broken, bleached, still bloodied—strewn about the area. My will wavered, and I drew in a deep breath. Perhaps I was here to slay whatever was responsible for these atrocities.

Logan groaned behind me as I made my way down into the depths of the temple.

"Stay with me," I said steadily, looking back to him. His form was flickering, but he fought on, his eyes filled with determination to see his task through.

"Come," said a deep voice that boomed through the halls.

Logan's hands clapped over his ears, as if the sound had been overwhelming, and he dropped to his knees.

Instinctively, I bent to help him up, but of course my hands passed through him. I begged, "Logan, please. Get up!"

"I-I cannot," he grimaced. "It is too much. I cannot take it."

"Return to the shadows, Logan." The voices ripped through the room.

Logan screamed, and it twisted a hot knife in my heart.

"NO!" I cried, tears springing forth. I threw myself toward him, colliding with the ground. The shadowy form was gone. There was nothing left. I wept, pounding the stone floor in frustration. The apparition of my brother had returned to wherever he'd come from—darkness, constant torture. I bit down on my lip. I felt as if I failed him all over.

"COME."

I glanced behind me. The hallway was long and winding, but I knew I had to go. I wiped my face, and I drew my sword quickly. A sense of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. The wickedness of this place was thick in the air, and it was almost hard to breathe. It reeked of incense and death, but I soldiered on. Logan had insisted that I come, and if I could do right by him at least once more...

I entered the large, dank, circular chamber, and I tightened my grip on my sword. The room was well-lit with brightly burning torches, and I ventured forward. There was a central platform where three shadowy figures sat in tall, black thrones waiting for me.

I stepped onto the pedestal before them, my limbs trembling with anxiety. I needed to calm myself. The fear within me came to a crescendo as they disappeared from their seats and reappeared on the edge of their platform. I sucked in a quick breath, and I opened my mouth to speak.

"Welcome, Your Majesty," interrupted the central figure in its eerie, deep voice. The shadow clasped its hands together and tilted its head to the side. "We have been waiting for you."

**A/N: So I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! As always, I'd like to thank Angelacm, my beta. If you enjoyed the chapter, leave me a review! They're really helpful in gauging my reader's reactions, so I know what you guys like and what you don't! Thanks for reading and don't forget to follow or favorite if you haven't already! **


	13. Dark Embrace

-Chapter Thirteen-

The cold, sinking feeling took hold once more, and I stared into the shadows. My heart thundered inside of my ribs, and now the figment of my brother had disappeared. It would have been easier to focus if I thought that that he watched over me. Being here with these creatures took me back to my time in Aurora, where I'd been blinded, stranded, and nearly killed . All of my courage and heroism were stripped away, now. I straightened my back, trying to exude some semblance of composure, and I managed to ask, "What do you want of me?"

"Want of _you_?" asked the shadow in the center. A soft wisp of a laugh left it, and the thing glanced at its two companions. "We have summoned you here to offer you a deal—one that you would be wise to consider."

My grip on the hilt of my sword tightened, and I shook my head. "There is nothing you can offer that I would accept."

"Oh? Is that so?" The shadow sounded amused. It slid across the space between us to appear mere inches from me.

I jumped backward, my heart thundering in fright. My sword clattered to the ground, and my Will activated, forming a ball of electricity in my hand. My nerves were ragged from exhaustion, but I couldn't let my guard down. I had no idea what these creatures' true intentions were.

"That will not be necessary. Your magic is useless here . You will listen to what we have to offer, and you _will_ accept. There is no other option."

Suddenly Logan's cries of agony filled the cavernous room. His shadowy, incorporeal form appeared at my side, bound by thick cords of inky blackness. He fell silent and sagged forward, his body twitching and writhing with pain.

My heart jumped into my throat, and every instinct told me to run to his side, to take him into my arms. He was _suffering_. I took a step in his direction, but the shadow blocked my path. I focused my eyes on the shadowy figure.

"Your brother's suffering will be eternal," The shadow threatened as it walked a circle around me. I could feel its bright red eyes penetrating me. It moved with the fluidity of a snake, but a dark, vicious aura emanated from it. It was unsettling in every sense of the word. "But what if I told you that there _was_ something you could do to ease his agony?"

I stared long and hard at the specter of Logan. His pale face was tight with silent misery. My stomach wrenched, and I looked away again. What could these things possibly do to end his suffering, and at what cost?

"Speechless, are you?" The shadow questioned. "That is understandable, so I will continue our proposal. It could prove to be mutually beneficial." It lay its dark hand on me, and I felt it as I would any person's. That caught me off guard. It was frigid and scalding all at once, but its fingers were sharp and skeletal. I wanted to tear away from its touch, but I was frozen in place.

"You have so much darkness inside of you already," it said. "It would be but a small sacrifice to do what must be done."

"_What must be done_?" I breathed, pondering the meaning of the creature's words.

"We know of your fears, your desires, your darkest fantasies," it chuckled, its claw-like hand still clutched tightly to my shoulder, anchoring itself to me, cutting into my flesh "We already know what your answer will be, so this is what you will do."

I could almost feel it the shadow's influence slipping inside of me, reading me, exploiting my weakness and making me doubt. My knees trembled beneath me, and my hands balled into anxious fists at my sides.

"You will name a person with a dark, corrupted soul," it demanded. "This will be the first of many souls with which you will supply us ."

"Wh-What?" I tripped over my words. They expected me to sacrifice _souls_? A budding terror planted itself in my stomach, but I couldn't bring myself to speak anymore.

"You are well versed in passing judgment on the wicked, are you not?" The shadow questioned. "Timothy Goulding, your brother, Saker...the list could go on, but _you know _your deeds, Your Majesty."

"Why would I do such a thing?" I asked, my voice cracking. "I-"

It leaned in close, and for a moment, I thought I could feel its piercing, icy breath on my skin. "We can give you that which you desire above all else." It turned me to look at the writhing, agonized form of Logan. It leaned over my shoulder, its mouth at my ear once more. "He would live once more, Your Majesty."

My breath left me, and I could not tear my gaze away from the figment of my brother. Hot tears stung the corners of my eyes, and my windpipe constricted. I cleared my throat, trying to regain my composure.

"All you need to do is say yes," It whispered softly. "Say yes, then name someone whose soul is tainted. Perhaps someone that the world would be better off without. Its hands tightened on me. "We would thrive with such corruption to sustain us. Annually, you will bring us a soul until we are sated. You will not age or die under our..._protection_, so long as you continue your task."

"Why _me_?" I questioned softly. The thought of this commitment sent another wave of nausea through me. Was it because of my Heroic blood? Was it because of my connection to Reaver? I did not know the extent of his dealings with these creatures, but somehow I knew that it was not a pleasant partnership.

"Because you have so much more to offer than anyone else," It whispered into my ear. "You have no idea of the potential which you have yet to unlock. You could accomplish a great deal with such an extended life, you _must_ realize. What do you say? You want your brother to _live _again, do you not?"

I exhaled shakily, "I do."

"Then give us your answer."

The tears spilled down my cheeks, and I found my head nodding before I could properly think. I opened my mouth and all that came was a strangled whisper. "_Yes_." My voice sounded so small as it echoed around the chamber, that I could hardly believe I'd spoken at all.

"Good." The shadow sounded pleased. It did not release me, but it spun me around to face it. Its eyes burned like great, scarlet flames, but I couldn't look away. "Now, who would you give to us? Someone who has wronged you, perhaps? Someone in whom you placed your trust? Someone who _betrayed_ that trust?"

I pulled in a shaky breath, but my mouth was too dry to speak. I pressed my lips together tightly.

"Come, Your Majesty. Your brother suffers every _second_ that you hesitate."

Logan's voice had suddenly been restored, and the sounds of his screams echoed off of the cavernous walls. I tried to crane my neck to look to him, but the shadow figure captured my chin in its thin, sharp fingers.

"We know of the heartbreak you have suffered," it said almost sympathetically. "Would it not benefit you to be rid of the one most responsible?"

"Okay," I breathed hastily. "Take her. Take Constance Green." As soon as the words were out, my stomach curled into a knot of regret.

"_Interesting choice_, but...acceptable nonetheless," The shadow murmured its voice full of enjoyment. "It is done."

Logan's cries faded away, and were replaced by the alarmed shout of a woman. The shadow released me, and I was free to whip around and see Constance, obviously shaken, trying to take in her strange new surroundings. She stumbled, very disoriented, but when she found me, she hurried to my side.

"Your Majesty!" she cried, the fear apparent in her trembling voice. She grabbed me for support, and her wide, whiskey-colored eyes darted about the place. "What is this place? Why have we been brought here?!" She tightened her grip on me.

Her touch made me physically ill. Those filthy hands had been all over my husband. I had trusted her with so much in the past, and she had betrayed that trust for her own selfish needs. I seized each of her wrists, wrenching her off of me, and I shoved her away. My eyes narrowed, and the words tore out of me, "How _dare_ you touch me after you put your hands all over my husband, you _whore?"_

"I-I'm _sorry_!" She wept.

The two passive shadows had leapt across the chasm in the middle of the room, and then all three began closing in on her.

"_No! I'M SORRY! PLEASE!" _She shrieked, her hands moving to cover her face. She screamed wordlessly, but then suddenly, as the shadows closed in, her cries abruptly ended. When the shadows disappeared, returning to their place on their thrones, she was gone. All that remained was a faint black residue marking the place where she once stood.

I hunched over, trying to pull in a shaky breath of air. I thought for sure I would be sick, but I held back the bile. My stomach calmed, and after a few moments, I was able to straighten back up. My body quaked with anxiety, but I was able to bring myself to look at the shadows once more.

"It is done. Where is he? Where is Logan?"

"Where did you _leave_ him, Your Majesty?" The shadow asked, laughter lacing its voice.

* * *

After I appeared in the courtyard of Bowerstone castle, I broke out into a run . The numerous servants and attendants looked bewildered at my sudden appearance. Their faces and voices were a blur, and I shoved one of them roughly out of my way as I entered the castle.

Logan was alive. Alive, but left in the crypts—_in his coffin_.

My tired muscles pumped as I skidded across the hallways. My heart was pounding in my head, and the panic spread through my limbs. I needed to get there as quickly as I could. I needed to spare my brother the terror of being closed in his own tomb.

People were calling after me, but I continued to ignore them as I turned a hard right to make my way through the kitchens. The workers in the kitchen were wiser and avoided my path, so when I rushed out into the garden, I was unhindered.

In the dark, the family crypt looked eerie and grim. The last time I had entered it on a night like this, I had been running away from Logan. Now, I was running to him. My legs carried me swiftly down the stairs, jumping gracefully off of the last few.

Pushing the thick, iron doors open, I thrust myself into the crypt. They closed behind me with a loud, metallic ringing. The flimsy lock of the doors clicked into place with ease, and I looked around the crypt. I had no idea what sort of state my brother would be in. The lock served as protection for him, and protection for those outside.

All was quiet and empty... and dark. I'd had my fill of darkness for the day; perhaps my life. I used my Will to light a torch in the corner before grabbing it. I held it up, and I stepped toward the pedestal. Three great, stone coffins lay spread across the space. Logan's tomb lay on the far side of Father's. The lid had been pushed away, and it had fallen to the ground, now in pieces.

Panic settled into my gut, and I squinted, trying to see through the darkness of the crypt. My skin crawled as a tingle of fear ran through me.

_Why is it so quiet?_

"Logan?" I asked gently, raising my torch.

The light wasn't sufficient to see clearly. My legs trembled beneath me as I walked toward Logan's empty tomb. He could not have gotten very far in such a short amount of time. My heart pounded anxiously and my stomach continued to twist into knots.

"Br-brother?" The fear had bled out into my voice.

From the opposite corner of the crypt, by our mother's tomb, I heard a soft moan accompanied by shallow, shaking breaths. I hurried around, avoiding the broken pieces of marble that littered the floor. "Logan, can you hear me? It's Keira."

He was faced away from me, leaned against the wall, his hands clutching at the stone. He was a wisp of his former self—drawn and thin. His clothes were mere scraps, and his hair was long and disheveled, but from what I could see, the figure bore a great resemblance to my brother Another gurgling sound of pain escaped him.

"Logan, is that you?"

He turned slowly, and my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach before a soft outcry of terror wrenched from me. The shadows were inside of him, leaking at every possible exit. They spilled from his mouth and even the unhealed gunshot wounds in his chest and stomach. I was reminded of Walter when The Crawler had taken over his body. I remembered the pain that had wracked me when I had been possessed by it in the desert. I had to cover my mouth to hold in a mournful sob of trepidation.

_What have I done to him?_

His legs were clumsy as he shuffled toward me, but his dark, clouded eyes found mine. For a moment, I wanted to back away or run, but I was frozen. He stumbled forward, and suddenly something in my changed. I discarded the torch, snuffing its light, and I sped to catch him. His hands closed tightly around my arms, and he leaned his face into the hollow of my throat. His breathing was ragged and pained, and I could feel the tightness building in my chest. He groaned again, and it was then that I realized that he was trying to speak.

"Logan...I-" My eyes widened with bewilderment. I truly did not know what to say or how to explain myself. I had been foolish to accept the deal. They had brought Logan back, but he was only a hollow shell of a man now. They had deceived me…and Logan was paying the steep price.

_Foolish...so foolish..._

Another attempt to speak came out as a grunt as he clutched tightly to me. His legs gave away beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground, a cry of obvious pain tearing from his throat.

The ache in my heart was nearly crippling as I followed him down and tilted him back across my lap. His eyes were black and blind, but they searched for me, regardless. Tears rolled down my cheeks unbidden, and I cupped his white, drawn face. "Oh, gods..."

His mouth opened, trying to form words with trembling, pale lips, but nothing more than a soft gurgle came. His eyelids shut tightly, and black, inky tears drifted down his face. The pain was written all over his face, and I could not bear to see it.

"I am so, so sorry." I wished I could have stopped weeping, for his sake, but I could not. I trembled, clutching him tightly against me.

"Don't..." He finally managed to say, his voice edged in agony. He reached up, and I took his hand tightly in mine, laying his palm against my cheek. His hand was so cold against my feverish skin. His raspy voice managed to speak again. "Don't cry..."

I tried to pull in a calming breath. Even through his pain, he thought of me, and that only cut me deeper. His voice was so weak, but it was still him. I could not believe he was trying to comfort me when I had committed this atrocious crime against him. I had to explain. I couldn't let him think that I _wanted_ to hurt him. "I wanted you with me _so_ badly...I did not think..." My words dissolved into more whimpers of sorrow. "I thought it would be alright..."

_How could I have been so naïve?_

His hand slipped from mine, and his arm dropped limply to his side. He moaned with pain at the sudden movement. His frail body writhed in my arms, contorting with the sheer torture of this dark existence.

_He is in so much pain...and it's __**all **__my fault. _

"End...this..." Logan murmured weakly. "_Please_."

I knew that ending his life would be a mercy, but an ache in my heart gave me pause. Though I had not pulled the trigger before, I _had_ ordered his execution. Could I kill my brother again? I was more alone than ever. I needed him, but I knew that letting him remain would be the most selfish thing I could ever do. I gaped down at him for a few moments, wishing that I would see his face as it once had been, even frowning at me in disappointment, anything but this ghostly shell...

_I deserve this pain...not him._

Even after everything he'd done in the past, I felt as if my crimes had now overshadowed them. Everything he had done, he'd done to protect Albion. This...this _monstrosity_, I had caused for my own selfish reasons.

"Please forgive me, brother...for everything."

I reached to my belt for my Dragonstomper, my hand trembling and I bit on my lip, trying to hold back more tears. My hands were unsteady, but I managed to press the barrel against the underside of his chin. I heard pounding at the doors and Reaver's voice muffled and angry, but I ignored it. I exhaled shakily.

"I love you, Logan," I whispered, closing my eyes. I pulled the hammer back; its metallic clicking echoed against the cold stone walls. Fresh, hot tears trailed down my face in droves, and he brought his hand to rest on top of my wrist, trembling as he squeezed me gently, reassuringly.

_I have to be strong. I have to do this. I..._

I forced myself to squeeze the trigger, and the gunshot echoed through the crypt. His body sagged backward in my arms, and I threw my pistol to the side. Slipping my arms tightly around him, I trembled with my gasping, sobbing breaths. I couldn't make noise. All of the air had been sucked from me.

I clutched onto him, but I could feel his form beginning to soften…to slip from my grasp. I opened my eyes to see that he was all shadow, now. The dark ooze that remained seeped everywhere, taking over the floor of the crypt, covering me. I heard a loud clinking noise, as if something heavy and metallic had hit the ground, but I couldn't see through my tears.

Still fighting for breath, I slumped forward, burying my face in my hands.

_Gods, what have I done? _

* * *

**-Reaver-**

I drummed my fingers impatiently on the arm of the plush wing back chair in my quarters. The nights had become rather boring since Keira had ambled off in a tantrum. I took supper alone, and even the company of Keira's lady-in-waiting started to feel exceedingly dull. I drew deeply from my glass of wine, and I glanced to the clock. It was barely after sun-down, and I found myself itching for a new day to begin.

How had I become swindled into domestication in such a short time? I exhaled. I'd given up a fair bit of my more unbridled habits for the sake of my new position, so I'd had to depend on my wife and others in the castle for company and attention. Keira's company had been more interesting than most others, and since she'd disappeared, a silence had fallen over Bowerstone Castle—as if its very soul had been sucked away.

I had taken joy in firing Hobson after I'd dismissed Constance. His jowls shook violently with his protest, but I remained resolute. Keira had been searching for a rational reason to strip him of his job since we'd been married, and frankly, so had I. The man grated my nerves with his groveling and sniveling. While I was used to such behavior, that man took it to a new extreme. I was glad to be rid of him.

Finishing off my wine, I rose from my chair. I'd had my fill of Constance as of late. To be perfectly honest, her charm had started wearing off when Keira came barging in a few evenings prior. The woman could have had at least a little respect for her Queen. Not to mention, her mouth could not possibly compare to the moist, skilled heat of Keira's. My frustration grew just thinking about it.

Without Keira, I'd been forced to turn to Murphy for conversation, if one could call such rambling conversation, and his stammer tried my patience constantly. With whom did she think she was dealing? One does not simply walk away from _Reaver_.

_When she returns, a strict lesson must be given._

Though my creative mind still pondered the possibilities of what could be done, I _had_ always been fairly good at improvisation.

I set my glass down, and I made my way toward the vanity. My hair was perfectly coiffed, as always, and my beauty mark—perfectly penciled in. There was nothing to be done to the flawlessness of my face, so I inspected myself for a moment longer, rubbing the dimple in my chin, then the angles of my jaw.

The bedroom door opened swiftly, and Murphy hurried in, red-faced and panting. His hair was disheveled, and his white breeches had stains of dirt and grass on them. He bowed, catching his breath as he did so.

"Why ever are you in such a state, Murphy?" I questioned, whirling around and putting my hands on my hips. I strode toward him. I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling as I looked him over again. He'd probably stumbled or fallen again. Why I kept him around, I did not know...Perhaps that was a lie. He'd proven to be useful in keeping me distracted during my long nights of frustration.

"M-m-m-m-m-m-aster R-r-r-r-r-reaver," he stammered. "I w-w-w-was on m-my way back from In-d-d-dustrial..."

"Yes?"

"I j-j-j-j-..." he paused, inhaling. "J-just."

"_Yes?" _I narrowed my eyes, losing patience very quickly. His stammering always got worse when he was agitated or nervous. Though, I _did _wonder what had him in such a tizzy.

He was growing red-faced in frustration with himself. "I just s-s-saw..."

My palm collided squarely with the back of his head, and he stumbled forward, but went silent.

"I just saw Her Majesty," He finally blurted clearly. "Th-the Queen h-has returned."

My eyes widened, and I grasped the fool by his collar. "Are you quite sure, Murphy? It was her?"

His head bobbed swiftly as he confirmed silently. "Sh-she pushed me down, s-so I followed her. Sh-she was running and s-s-seemed upset."

The nerve of that woman. How dare she be anywhere but with me upon her return? "Where is she now, Murphy?"

"She r-r-ran for the gardens," He said. "Th-the royal c-c-c-crypt."

What reason could she have for running to the crypt? I doubted that its occupants would be going anywhere anytime soon. The agitation was growing within me, and I moved Murphy to the side with a soft shove. "See to it that The Queen and I have a little privacy in the gardens. I highly _doubt_ that this will be a very romantic reunion. I would hate the sully the façade of marital bliss that I've so delicately placed."

"Y-y-yes, Your Grace," He said, stooping down into a bow.

I swept past him, straightening the lapels of my coat as I made my way down the corridor. If she wanted to be upset with me, I could match her ire. For someone seemingly obsessed with duty and honor, she had no qualms with running away from both in a hurry. The last conversation we'd had caught me off guard, but I had days to prepare for _this_.

I moved with a crisp determination that let the servants know to move from my path, bowing as I passed. If I hadn't been so hell-bent on reaching Keira, I might have allowed myself time to bask in the power I exuded, but for now, I needed to reach the gardens.

"Your Grace," said a guard, sharply, as I shoved the double doors leading to the garden open. "The Queen-"  
"You, along with your fellows are dismissed," I interrupted him, waving a hand. "I want this garden cleared."

"I...er..yes, Your Grace," The guard said with a stiff bow. He hurried off to gather up his mates, hissing commands.

I stormed across the gardens, taking each set of stairs with a little more speed. Finally, I eyed the crypt, glancing the monument up and down, then rolled my eyes. Sparrow had built the ghastly tomb when she first took the reins of the kingdom, much to my disgust. Why anyone would plan so elaborately for death was _beyond _me.

I approached the great iron doors, attempting to shove them open quickly, but they were bolted shut. I could hear the soft murmur of her voice, but the words were unclear. I pounded sharply on the metal. "Keira, you cannot hide in that tomb! I _know _you are in there!"

I paused for a few moments, and I heard her voice change. It was filled with sadness, and my conclusion was affirmed when she began to weep aloud. My knocking grew swifter and rang loudly through the gardens.

"This is _ridiculous_!" I knocked, tapping my foot as my impatience grew. If she wished to speak of the events of the past few days, I was more than open to, but locking herself in her parents' tomb did no one any good.

The gunshot startled me, sending my heart into my throat, where it seemed to swell and choke me. I knocked ferociously for a for a few moments, then pausing to listen. There was silence in the crypt, and I moved swiftly to drive my shoulder into the door. What had she done?

Pain cracked through my bone and muscle as I drew back to lay into the door once more. The lock used to secure it had obviously been flimsy, for the doors burst open, and I caught myself before stumbling inward. My hand moved automatically to grip at my injured shoulder, and I hissed softly with the pain. It would heal soon enough, but the feeling _was_ unpleasant.

Keira was hunched over in a puddle of black, sticky muck, her Dragonstomper discarded carelessly to the side. I froze with panic, waiting to see any signs of life. She was breathing and sobbing ever so quietly, and relief coursed through me. Her hands covered her face, and despite the commotion I'd created by breaking into the tomb, she didn't seem aware of my presence. I moved to grab her by the arm, intent on hoisting her to her feet to confront her face to face.

Suddenly, something glinted against the dull light in the tomb. I crouched to lift the circular pendant from the foul smelling sludge in which my wife sat. I inspected the bauble , and a grim realization crashed over me. The seal was far more plain and dark than the one with which I'd been presented centuries ago, but I would never be able to mistake the feel of a Dark Seal in my hand. It was black with foreign, red words scrawled around the edge. What had she done to attain this seal, and what could she have hoped for in return? Gruesome memories that I preferred to keep locked away seeped through my carefully constructed barrier, and my chest tightened.

Suddenly, a curious anger bubbled up inside of me, and I grasped Keira firmly by the arm. I yanked her roughly toward me, and my eyes found hers. "What have you done, you _foolish woman_?" I hissed.

Her lips parted, but she was silent. Tears flowed generously down her soiled, red cheeks, and her eyes turned to find the floor before closing. She trembled slightly against me, and she slumped inward against my chest. Her limbs were loose with fatigue, and she slid down my body, threatening to fall to the ground. She heaved with violent sobs of woe, and I felt infinitely unsettled.

I wrapped an arm around her waist to support her weight, and I felt my anger growing. How could she assume that I would simply stand here and comfort her? Did she truly have me pegged so inaccurately? Rolling my eyes, I bent and swept my wife off of her feet. I knew that once we left the dank, moist smell of the crypt, I would be far more content. Perhaps I would get some sort of explanation from her.

As if she'd snapped to her senses, her body tensed, and she struggled against my grip. I threw her over my shoulder, carrying her up the stairs, and she pushed against me. I tightened my hold on her, not willing to let her slip away from me before she answered for her disobedience.

"Let me _go_, Reaver," She said, her weak anger showing its head through her tears and sadness "I have nothing to say to you right now."

I set her down on the grass, and I looked her over. She was filthy—smudged with mud, black muck, blood. "_You_ left _me_, my dear," I told her, raising my brows. "I think I am entitled to a few questions."

"Entitled?" She asked, her cheeks reddening and her eyes flashing dangerously. "You have no idea what I've been through...What I've _done_..."

"I have some idea of what you may have been doing during your absence," I said, flicking the seal in her direction. "How was _Wraithmarsh_, my dear? I always find the weather there to be a little more forgiving this time of the year."

She caught the seal, her wide eyes inspecting it, and her tears fell anew. Shoving the thing into the pocket of her coat, her jaw clenched in anger, and she strode away.

I was not about to let her leave again _that _easily.

"Hmm, do I detect a pattern of behavior?" I quipped, acid lacing my tone. "Running away _again_, _ma cherie_?"

She whirled around as fast as she'd stormed off, and her fist struck me sharply in the face. Light exploded through my field of vision, and the coppery taste of my blood filled my mouth. I fought to draw in a breath, and I stumbled backward, clutching my aching—most likely fractured—jaw.

I spit the blood in her direction, and I winced at the movement of my face.

"You have _no_ right to throw accusations at me after all _you've_ done," She fumed, clearly livid now. Her body trembled, and the lines of her Will glowed scarlet, but she withheld the use of her magic. Her tears continued to stream down her face, but now they expressed her anger as well as sorrow.

As the pain in my jaw subsided, I straightened, and I offered her a bloodied grin. "You've had your little outburst for _that_ misstep, my dear. I'd say we are almost even." Stepping toward her, my hand cupping her face. "Come, I am sure I will be able to diffuse your mood one way or another."

"Get your hands _off _of me!" She recoiled from my touch. "I cannot handle your lies. Not anymore."

"Lies?" I almost laughed. "You may need to refresh me on such a trivial subject. Of which lies do you speak, my dear?"

"I said _no_, Reaver. Just let me go." Her voice was terse and obviously meant business.

"Come now, don't be a tease, darling," I egged her on, withholding my laughter.

Her fist flew once more, but this time, my hand was swift enough to catch it before it collided with my chin. My fingers locked around her wrist, and our eyes met, burning into each other. The passion ignited an acute need within me, but I restrained myself. This was _too _much fun. I was, after all, a man that thrived on conflict. I would get the truth from her—one way or another. Her eyebrows furrowed in frustration, and a taunting grin spread across my lips. A rush of exhilaration flowed through me. She would have to be _much_ faster than that.

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews everyone! It is much appreciated! Follow/Fave if you haven't already, there's plenty more on its way.**


	14. Smother

-Chapter Fourteen-

Reaver had my wrist caught in a fiercely tight grip, and I tried to wrench away from him. Why couldn't he just let me go? Could he not see that I wanted to be alone so very desperately? I fought against him for a few moments, the grin on his face fueling my anger, and I sucked in a deep breath. I gathered the Will in my body, and I sent it outward, knocking him backward violently. Catching my breath, I shook my hand which throbbed from the immense tightness of his grip.

He landed flat on his back with a sharp grunt. Gathering his composure quickly, he climbed back to his feet. His hand twitched at his waist, reaching for a Dragonstomper, but it soon dropped. "You've had your fun, Keira," He hissed. "But I can only retain my gentlemanly demeanor for so long." He rushed forward, and he seized me by the shoulders.

"_Gentlemanly_?" I spat, my eyes widening into a glare of reproach. "A _gentleman_ doesn't press a matter when asked to stop." My anger was getting the better of me, and before I knew it, I was spewing more words. "A _gentleman_ doesn't simply shove his prick into every woman he sees."

"I do not discriminate based on _gender_, my dear," He quipped, his eyebrows shooting upward, taunting me.

_"You BASTARD!"_

I threw myself into his chest, knocking him fiercely into the grass. A roar of frustration tore from my throat. How did he manage to infuriate me when, only minutes ago, I had been steeped in a deep, crippling sorrow? How could I care so much about what he did when I _knew_ he'd manipulated me? My fists flew wildly against his face, and tears exploded from me.

He seized my arms, attempting to hold me steady, but when that proved fruitless, he used his strength to flip me onto my back. His hands pinned me to the ground, and I writhed angrily beneath him.

"I do not care if you are upset over my dalliances. This is _not _about that, now," He snarled, his body pressing down against mine, holding me in place. His face was already swelling and red from the force of my blows. "_How_ did you get that Dark Seal you now have in your pocket?" His voice was filled with an anger that I hadn't expected. Why would _he_ be angry with _me_?

I shook my head, my lips pressing tightly together. "This would never have happened if..." A soft sob escaped me. "Leave it to _you _to set me on a collision course with such dark, twisted beings, only to, _myself,_ commit such _monstrosities_..."

He looked bewildered for a moment, his eyes widening, and he pulled back. "_What did you do_?" His grip on my wrists loosened, but he would not let me go.

"I...I thought that they would bring him back as he once was," I wept, my head falling back into the grass with a soft thud. The corners of my eyes stung, and I squeezed them shut, trying to ease the discomfort the budding tears brought on. "Th-they said that if I gave them a dark, tainted soul, they would bring Logan back, but he came back wrong...suffering. I could not let him exist solely in torment..." I opened my eyes once more to find him staring intently down at me.

"You have already given The Shadow Court this soul they requested?" he questioned, his eyes suddenly very severe-looking.

I nodded silently, and the tightness of my throat felt as if it might smother me.

For a few moments he looked relieved, as if he thought my deal with the shadows somehow implicated him.

"And you ended your brother's suffering," He finished.

"Yes," My voice crackled gently.

I heard him let out a breath that I didn't know he'd been holding, and he slowly rolled off of me. I took the opportunity to roll onto my side, facing away. The shadows truly _had_ tricked me. I wouldn't have been surprised if the figment that followed me around Wraithmarsh had been created only to manipulate me. I brought my hands to my temples, rubbing at them, trying to quell the throbbing headache that budded behind my eyes.

"How could you be so_ foolish_?" Reaver asked pointedly. "How could you not have _known_ that the price would be steep?"

"I don't know," I squeaked, shaking my head. "I really don't know." My voice warbled, and I dissolved into tears once more.

He sighed with frustration, and he cursed under his breath. His hand settled on my shoulder, but now it was gentle. He brushed away the hair that hung in my face, and I heard him exhale.

"Who _did_ you give to the Shadow Court?" The question was tentative, but he turned me onto my back once more. His fingers captured my jaw, tilting my head upward, forcing my gaze to meet with his. His eyes were serious, inquiring, but his breathing was deep and steady, as if trying to hold something back.

Shame crept over me, and I exhaled. "Constance..." My voice faltered. "I gave them Constance."

He looked puzzled for a moment, but he then nodded slowly. "I see." He didn't seem to be affected by the revelation, and I was not sure if I should be comforted by his indifference or wounded by it. Had she really meant so little to him? He had shown little regard to his other lovers in the past. Was I different, or was I simply another in a long string of beneficial intimate acquaintances?

A silence grew between us, and his mouth tightened as he glanced me over once more. "You are...unharmed?" His eyebrows raised for a moment, but he then cleared his throat. "Like me, The Shadow Court is infamous for doing whatever it takes to turn a 'no' into a 'yes'...no matter the damage."

I nodded, unsure of what to say. Physically, I was exhausted but otherwise unharmed. My mind was suddenly so clear, and I was now positive that The Shadow Court had been to blame for my relentless nightmares and weakening frame of mind. It had all been an intricate, malevolent design to drive me to my edge. My voice rasped as I spoke, "They made me see things...think things...but my choice was my own. I wish I could say it wasn't, but...I said yes of my own will." I covered my face with my hands, the remorse crashing over me like an unforgiving wave.

He pulled me into a sitting position, and when my fatigued muscles sagged in protest, he held me upright. "What you feel—the remorse, the loathsome regret and worry—is to be expected." He looked short of words for a few seconds. "Many years ago, I felt as you feel, but my price was different, as were my reasons for paying it."

I focused on his face for a few moments. His eyes looked suddenly haunted, and his jaw tightened as he averted his gaze. His facade of composure flew across his features quickly, probably realizing the vulnerability he'd shown. My stomach twisted, and for a moment, I wanted nothing more than to lean into his arms and weep—to accept the comfort that he seemed to be offering—but part of me was afraid to show such weakness. He might mistake weakness for forgiveness. He still had so much to answer for, but his affair, as hurtful as it was, wasn't the most pressing issue. Maybe he would be able to give me a better understanding of what I had just gotten myself into.

"You have known The Shadow Court for a long time, then," I stated uneasily.

"A very long time," He affirmed with a nod, returning his gaze to me, and he exhaled. "Come. It seems we have much to discuss." He rose gracefully to his feet, and he held a hand out to me.

I looked up at my husband, and I saw that for a fraction of a second, he looked different—genuine. I hesitantly placed my hand in his, and when he helped me to my feet, I allowed him to slip a supportive arm around me. I leaned against him for physical support, my aching legs protesting with every step, but we moved toward the castle's rear entrance all the same.

When I stole a glance at him, he was staring at me with a discerning expression. His brows were drawn inward, and his mouth looked almost severe, but his eyes were full of an emotion that seemed absolutely foreign to him—pity.

* * *

I was thankful that the maids were able to hastily draw me a bath . They tried to warn me that the water was too hot, but I only felt pure relief as I sank down into the steaming tub. I closed my eyes and let my overworked muscles loosen. I would be glad to be finally cleansed of the filth of the past few days. If only the hot water would wash away the dark stain in my heart.

I wished that I could fold time on itself and allow it to swallow the past few years. Such a skill would return Logan to me and enable me to choose my actions more wisely. If granted that second chance, I would take more caution in dealing with Reaver. I'd foolishly let him in when he had specifically told me to close myself off to _everyone_. I should have listened. The more I thought about it, the more foolish I felt. Everything that had happened to me until this point had been my own doing—not just Reaver's. I supposed I deserved every second of the misery I endured.

For a good while, I forgot that Reaver was in the room, but he made himself known by clearing his throat. He'd obviously let me bathe in silence for a good while because the water had already started to go cool. I'd lost track of time while engrossed in my thoughts, trying to make sense of everything.

When I glanced up in his direction, I saw that he was seated on a high-backed chair in the corner, observing me with a look that a starving man might give a steak. Reaver slipped his hands into his pockets and cocked a brow at me. He looked almost unsure of what to say which, for someone who was never afraid to give his unabashed opinion, was odd.

"So, you gave them.

My stomach dropped, and I averted my eyes. "They asked for someone with a dark, corrupt soul, and I named her." I returned my gaze to him. "Why? Does that upset you?"

"Not at all, actually. She was a pitiful excuse for a person," he said as if it were truly no big deal. Was he so inhuman that he genuinely did not care whether she lived or died—whether she suffered in torment for all eternity because of their affair? Suddenly, I remembered that he undoubtedly made regular sacrifices to The Shadow Court. It was probably second-nature for him to be so callous when it came to the lives of others. What kind of person was he before he'd given himself over to the shadows? What had he given up for this life?

"I just thought it was an interesting choice." He stood, his eyes dark and inquiring. The swelling in his face had gone down slightly, but his jaw and cheekbones were still marred by red and purple splotches of bruising.

"So did the Shadow Court," I told him, still inspecting his injuries.

He looked contemplative for a few moments. "I think I know who they intended for you to name, but I cannot fathom why..."

I gulped softly, and his words made sense. They may have intended for me to name _Reaver_. Perhaps whatever deal _he_ had made with them was not as beneficial for them as mine was. Maybe they were ready to be rid of him. What could he possibly give them if not souls? What else would they want? "You don't seem to be very familiar with this particular situation..." I noted.

"My deal with The Shadow Court is of a different nature. I do not give them souls, as your deal seem to require. They take the youth and vitality of my tributes, and in return, I remain youthful and vigorous."

I raised a brow at him. Suddenly the terms of my deal seemed a lot less selfish. I did not know what to say in reply. What would have driven Reaver to make such a deal? Had he suffered some loss that had scared him into seeking immortality, or had he truly been so vain that he dare not let his beauty slip away?

"The man who made that deal no longer exists. _He_ was a man afraid of death. Now, I send my sacrifices to the court yearly because they have made it known that if I were to stop...they would _come for me_. I have done too much with this long, plentiful life of mine to let it slip away so easily...for _nothing_."

"You are more than just an immortal, aren't you?" I found myself asking. I was sure that the degree of his strength and accuracy could not have been part of his deal. The Shadows would never give something above and beyond that which was agreed upon. He had to have been of Heroic descent, and he had a connection to the shadows...

"It was you who led my mother into Wraithmarsh all those years ago, wasn't it?" I paused, drawing a breath. "That would make you the Hero of Skill."

If it were true, it meant that Reaver was _far_ more dangerous than I could have ever known. It would certainly make sense. His agility, his deadly accuracy, and his cunning were all attributes that The Hero of Skill would possess. Suddenly, I thought of the descriptions of the unnamed Hero, and the behavior seemed to match as well. The vanity, the promiscuity, the petty competitiveness...

"You really _are_ more clever than you let on," He said, sounding almost proud of my perception as a slow grin uncurled across his lips. "Yes. I am he. Does that disturb you?" He took a few steps toward me, but his eyes stayed locked on mine.

"It's no more disturbing than anything else that has happened today," I said honestly. I sank further into the water. His history was the least of my concerns at that moment. There would be time to have this argument later. It was my future that worried me. "They said that I cannot die. Is that true?"

"In my experience, yes," he said. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "It's been nearly three-hundred years, and here I stand: still as handsome and youthful as I was centuries ago."

The number was much larger than I had expected. How does one simply stick around for three-hundred years without going mad? The thought of it baffled me. Perhaps he _had_ gone a bit mad. He was undoubtedly a different person than he was all those centuries ago. Would I become as cold and calculating as he had over the years? Would I lose pieces of myself to time? I felt sick all over again.

I sank my head beneath the water, and I lifted my weary arms to work the built up muck and filth from my hair. It would be a small relief to be clean, but that seemed irrelevant compared to everything else I had to worry about. I broke the water's surface, and I drew in a breath. I opened my eyes to see that Reaver now stood over the tub, looking down at me.

"I think you are sufficiently clean. The water has surely gone cold by now," He said, slinging my towel over his shoulder. Without hesitating, he seized me beneath my arms and pulled me from the tub as easily as if I were a child. He set me gingerly on my feet, and I grabbed the towel from his shoulder, breaking away from his grip.

I dried myself in silence, feeling his eyes on me, and I squeezed the excess moisture from my hair. After discarding the towel, I slipped a linen nightshirt over my head. Being dressed in something with a crisp, clean scent was more comforting than I could have imagined. I smoothed the small wrinkles from the front of my gown, padding toward the roaring fire. I sat on the edge of an ottoman leaning forward and drying my hair with the heat of the flames. The warmth and light was a welcome change from the cold and darkness I'd endured in the past days.

"I am sorry that you were deceived by those wretched creatures," Reaver said suddenly, breaking the quiet that had grown between us. Was he truly sorry, or did he say this to gain some sort of quick reprieve of his wrongdoing in my eyes? "Had I known the extent of your grief—had you simply _told me—_I might have been able to protect you."

"_Protect_ me?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. How could he have possibly protected me? Better yet, _why_would he have protected me?

"As your husband, I have certain duties, do I not?" He questioned, tilting his head.

"If you are speaking of a husband's duties, then you also had an implied duty to remain faithful to me," I said. "You cannot pick and choose which parts are acceptable to you. Marriage is marriage whether it is entered in the name of love or the name of mutual benefit."

He snorted softly, but he did not have a quip or retort. His mouth pursed, and the silence built once more.

I combed my fingers through the clean waves of my hair, huffing bitterly. Perhaps if he had been alone in his chambers that night, this whole thing might have been averted. I would have found comfort with him, and I might have been able to stave off the shadows. I turned my eyes away from him.

_Who was I fooling?_ _I would have found my way to Wraithmarsh, regardless. _

If The Shadow Court_ had _been to blame for my state of mind for the months prior, I would have ended up in that chamber no matter what Reaver or anyone else did. This was all my own doing. I had left myself vulnerable, and the shadows had taken that to their advantage.

My eyes found Reaver once more. He was stripping off his vest, which had gotten rather filthy when he'd wrestled against me in the garden. His favorite black shirt was torn at the elbow and shoulder, but he hadn't yet noticed—or perhaps he hadn't cared. His eyes were fixed exclusively on me, and he took a seat in the chair nearest to where I sat.

"Why did you name Constance?" He asked bluntly, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward, expressing interest. The question seemed sudden, but I knew it would come eventually. He had to have _some_ interest in that subject, at least.

Heat spread across my cheeks, and I blinked. I knew that I didn't want to be truthful here. It would expose a weakness in me that he could likely exploit or look down upon. I was tired of being exploited. Perhaps I would be able to get away with a half-truth. "She was the first person that came to mind. I did not have much time to think."

"If you perceived mine and Constance's...hmm..." He paused, as if searching for a word. "..._Liaison_ to be wrong, then why not name _me_? Would I not be considered the guilty party?" He questioned.

"I don't want to discuss this right now, Reaver," I said, turning my eyes away. The guilt churned within me all over again. My hair was still rather damp, but I stood, and I crossed the room, away from him. I picked up the robe that had been set out on the bed, and I shrugged it on. I made my way toward the double doors leading onto the balcony, hoping to escape the conversation, but Reaver stood sharply and blocked my path.

"I believe I have been very honest with you this evening," He asserted, his voice reinforced with determination. "I have answered _every_ question you've had without hesitation."

I slashed my eyes up to his, and I shook my head. "Right now, I don't want to think about it."

"It is the ideal time to think about it," Reaver insisted, straightening his spine and crossing his arms over his chest. "Why did you not name me?"

There was a knock at the door.

Reaver and I stood deadlocked, our eyes focused intently on the others, seeing who would give in first. The tension in the air was almost smothering, and my heart pounded in my chest. I could not concede because I could not let him know why I had been so upset that evening: he had not only broken his vows... he had broken my _heart_.

After another knock, Reaver sighed, and turned around sharply to move to the door.

I took this as my opportunity to slip onto the balcony, away from the conflict. The air was temperate, and the sky was as clear as it could be with the smokestacks in Industrial working around the clock. I leaned against the railing, glaring down to the crypt. The doors were battered, but the guards had attempted to close them.

I exhaled, resting my cheek against my palm. The quiet was soothing, but it also left me alone with the slew of thoughts that rushed through my mind. I was overwhelmed by emotion and exhaustion. It was difficult to process. In the span of a few mere hours, I had sacrificed a woman's soul to darkness, and allowed that dark magic to bring my brother back to life only to end his acute suffering mere minutes later. I was now eternally bound to The Shadow Court, and it had all been for nothing.

My eyes found the family crypt once more. What would my _mother_ say about all of this? I shook my head, already knowing the answer. She would be ashamed. She had spoken so heatedly against those foul creatures in Wraithmarsh that night I'd overheard her conversation with Walter. She cursed The Hero of Skill for all of the times he betrayed her—betrayed Albion. Now, I had taken him as my husband and given The Shadow Court power over me.

"I'm sorry, Mother," I sighed. "I have failed you more than Logan ever could have." At least Logan's intentions had been for the good of Albion when he'd done all of those terrible things...

I heard the door open softly behind me, and I closed my eyes, waiting for Reaver to pick up the conversation I had sought to escape. Instead, I felt him nudge my hand with a cool glass, and I reopened my eyes to see that he poured me a rather large nip of whiskey.

Turning my gaze to him, I took the glass, and I brought it to my lips, taking a swallow. This would not solve my problems, I knew, but perhaps I would sleep harder than I would without it. The tension between us had eased now. It no longer felt smothering, and I was grateful. My stomach had finally loosened from its knot of anxiety, and I felt as if I would be able to sleep soon.

Reaver's eyes looked down across the garden, and he said, "When I was a young man, I thought that the world was a bountiful place—full of life and promise—but it turns out that _all of it _is a farce. A person, even a soul of sheer _nobility-_" He said the word with disdain. "—like your mother can stray into darkness and no one would even know the difference."  
I raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

"You already know that I sent your mother to Wraithmarsh," He stated, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a Dark Seal, though it was very different than the one that had been left behind in Logan's remains. It was made of similar black metal, but it was intricately decorated with sharp-looking cut-outs and a swirl of glimmering red stones. He placed it in my hand. The weight of it was immense. I would never have expected such a compact thing to be so heavy.

"I sent her with _this_, in hopes that her beauty would perpetuate mine, but on the off chance that she out-witted me, I also sent another as insurance."

I took another sip of the whiskey, the liquid burning all the way down to my stomach.

"She was presented with a choice," Reaver continued, taking my glass and sipping at the liquor. "She was offered the chance to spare the young girl I'd sent as back-up and allow The Shadow Court to take her own youth, but she decided to let The Shadows take the girl instead."

A wave of shock overtook me. I would never have imagined my mother to have done something like that. I combed my fingers through my hair, unsure of what to say or do in this response to this revelation.

"Everyone has a brush with darkness in their lives, darling," He said, passing me the glass once more. "Whether one allows the darkness to strengthen or weaken one's self is what separates the truly powerful from the dreadfully ordinary."

"Pardon me if I don't quite take that advice in stride right now, Reaver," I said, polishing off the drink, and turning to head back inside.

Reaver followed me closely, his hand wrapping around my wrist before I could reenter my bedchamber. He spun me to face him, and he raised his eyebrows, "Do not discount my words, Keira. The price you have paid for your misstep is _far_ less severe than it could have been."

"Condemning another person to unknown torment to gain nothing but immortality?" I scoffed.

A dark grin played across his mouth. "That is quite _adorable—_one soul." He released me, and he opened the door for me.

I inspected him as I passed into the bedroom. I was nearly hesitant to ask what the initial price for his bargain had been, but the nagging curiosity got the better of me. "How many did _you _give over to them?"

"_Many_ more than one."

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! They're greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I promise that the next one is in the works! Go ahead and leave me a review and let me know what you think so far! Follows and favorites are always appreciated!**

**EDIT: Totally forgot to thank my AMAZING Beta ANGELACM! She does so much for me, and I'm thankful to have her!**


	15. Closer

**-Chapter Fifteen-**

In the days that followed my return to the castle, I kept mostly to myself. I left my room occasionally to walk the front courtyard, or to answer a few letters in the study, but I didn't do very much. Mostly, I remained confined to my chambers, dealing with my emotions and all that had happened in the past few days. At first, it had all been too much, but as each day passed, the weight on my heart eased, if only a little.

Reaver had taken up his duties at the factory once more, stating that his return would ensure the people that I was recovering. Even the staff had believed Reaver's lie that I had fallen victim to a mysterious fever, and that my own lady-in-waiting had even been afflicted. He had told everyone that she had not survived, and that seemed to satisfy their curiosity about her disappearance. How was it so easy for him to lie about the way people around him seemed to disappear? How could people accept his lies so readily?

I hadn't seen Reaver since the day I returned to the castle. I was still processing all I'd learned about him. When he came by, which was often, I always refused to see him. Part of me wanted to believe he was worried about me, but I knew that was just foolish.

Murphy had been entrusted with Hobson's duties since the old, despicable man was relieved of his job by Reaver. I wasn't sure of the exact details of Hobson's dismissal or Murphy's ascension into the job, but the young, stammering man was surprisingly adept at the keeping of the royal treasury. He seemed to have quite the mind for numbers and reasoning. He was all too eager to sit with me in the parlor and discuss the rapidly growing wealth of the kingdom. His nervous stammer had even reduced to slightly, and he'd even made eye-contact with me—something he'd never done in the past. Perhaps now that he was officially under my employ, he did not have to fear my husband's tempestuousness.

"T-today's schedule is p-pretty basic," Murphy said, flipping through a few sheets of parchment. "There is a portrait sitting sch-scheduled for this afternoon, but other than that, you are f-f-free to do as you wish."

"_Another_ portrait?" I asked, exasperated. Sitting through the first portrait had been tiresome enough.

"R-Reaver has said that you refused him a wedding portrait," Murphy said. "He r-requests that you at least sit with him for one in honor of your birthday."

"In honor of _my_ birthday?" I questioned. My birthday was a few weeks away, but I couldn't believe that this was for my benefit. Was this his way of forcing me to see him? What did he hope to gain by speaking to me? It would not change what he did or how I felt about it. It had been a betrayal, and I was not yet ready to face him and discuss the issue.

"Does he truly believe that I require so many portraits?" I breathed, trying to look unaffected.

"Well, m-my Queen, you have been inside of his m-mansion in Millfields, or don't you remember its d-décor?" Murphy asked, a glimmer of humor lighting up his blue eyes, but after a moment he looked serious once more. "He's s-said that if I am unable to conv-vince you..."

_Of course_ he'd threatened Murphy. He knew that I wouldn't let any harm come to him. I sighed, rubbing my temples, and I nodded softly. I would have to bear this because I knew Reaver would not spare Murphy his cruelty. Reaver did not bluff.

"I will be there, I suppose," I sighed.

There was a soft rap on the door, and it opened. Anabelle, my newest lady-in-waiting entered, her warm smile seeming to brighten the room. She had proven to be a great support over the past few days. Though she did not know the full extent of my sadness, she knew that I had not simply been ill. She kept me company with conversation, encouragement, and she'd even taught me to properly play chess—though, she also taught me humility in totally decimating me every time I dared challenge her to a match.

Murphy's jaw hung loose, and he averted his eyes, returning them to the itinerary for the day. His face was a few shades more pink than it had been before Anabelle had entered the room, and I couldn't help but smirk at his reaction. As _close _as Murphy and Reaver had been in the past, I would have never thought that he would be interested in...well..._women_. Then again, Reaver had a wide variety in his tastes, why couldn't Murphy?

Anabelle was very pretty and had curves that made most men turn their heads. Her olive skin seemed to be perpetually kissed by the sun, and her wide, dark eyes seemed to be always filled with laughter. She offered Murphy her best smile, and she gave him a small curtsy before giving me one that was deeper and more formal.

"Your Majesty," She said to me, then her eyes turned towards Murphy. "Mister Murphy."

"G-g-g-ood day, Lady An-n-n-nabelle," He stammered, bowing hastily in return, dropping everything that he had clutched tightly in his arms. His wiry limbs seemed to tangle up in themselves as he scrambled to catch everything.

Anabelle hurried forward to help him gather up his possessions, her warm eyes smiling to him as she handed him a bundle of papers. "Here you are, sir."

"M-m-much obliged, My Lady," he returned, his face a deeper shade of scarlet. He swept a hand through his wavy blonde hair, trying to put himself to rights. He looked toward me with wide blue eyes, and he said. "Excuse me, Your M-majesty. His G-g-g-grace has requested my presence at the factory once I have given you y-y-your schedule. I r-r-r-really must be off."

"Thank you, Murphy," I offered with a soft smile. "You may go."

As he left the room, he gave another quick glance to Anabelle, who followed him with her eyes every step of the way.

"Well," I said with a bit of laughter in my voice. "It seems you have an admirer."

Anabelle merely shook her head, her face still fixed into a smile. She wrung her hands together in front of her, and she stepped forward.

"_Oh_, and it seems the feeling is mutual," I pointed out, raising a brow gently.

"He seems to be a truly humble and sweet man," She said. "Though, I wonder what _His Grace_ has done to him to make him so unbelievably skittish." She almost always referred to Reaver with the utmost disdain, and frankly, that relieved me. I did not want another scandal. It was refreshing to see a woman so immune to his charms. I only wish I had been as strong.

"I wonder," I remarked.

"Speaking of your husband," she sighed, changing the subject abruptly. "He has informed me that a dress for the portrait this afternoon will be on its way shortly. He accosted me in the hallway this morning as he was leaving for Industrial."

"Did he behave?" I questioned. Anabelle had told me how he'd flirted with her in the past, even before we had been married. Her refusal must irk him terribly, and that brought me a tiny bit of petty pleasure.

"Surprisingly yes," She said in disbelief, crossing the room and eying the chess set that was set up in the corner. "Now, how would you like to pass the time until your dreadful appointment?"

"Hopefully winning a game of chess," I said with a smirk. "I've been practicing with Murphy. I think I've gotten better...or Murphy is a terrible strategist."

She smiled, and I wasn't sure if it was from the mention of Murphy or at the prospect of annihilating me once more at her game of choice. "Alright, then. Let's see how you've improved."

* * *

**-Reaver-**

I reclined against the soft chaise in my office. I was still so very distracted, as I had been for nearly a week. I had foolishly believed that Keira's return would simply solve my foul mood, but I found that it was even blacker than before. Perhaps it was the fact that she still refused to see me. We'd spoken at length the night of her return, but since then, she had all but banished me from her presence.

I now had to rely on Murphy for inklings of what my wife may be doing in now that she had submitted me to marital exile, but he assured me that she seemed to be in a better state. I was still not satisfied. The very fact that she told me she did not want me near her made me crave her presence all the more. No woman had ever dared to dismiss me in such a definite way.

My eyelids drooped lazily, and I jerked them open again. My Dark Seal weighed heavy on my soul now that my time of tribute was near—only a few weeks away. It always grew heavier the closer my little appointment grew. I'd had arrangements to send Murphy off to escort my chosen tribute, but now there were various reasons why I would need to go personally this year. Not only did Murphy have new, more important duties to attend to, but I found myself curious to find out just what had driven my shadowy friends to seek out my wife. There had to be some sort of motive there, but I still was not completely sure what it could be.

There was less work to be done at the factory than usual, as Page had proven to be a very resourceful and meticulous worker. Part of me had to commend her for her work despite my every effort to make her life difficult, yet the bigger part of me still loathed her and all she stood for. Her determination to be "compassionate" was a weakness. A sharp mind should never waste itself on the plight of the downtrodden but search for a way to look forward. It was a shame that she was so stubborn in her humanitarianism.

I had finished all of the work that had piled up in the time of my absence in a few short hours. Any other man might have given up work once he'd become King-Consort, but as much as I craved the title, I knew that I would be terribly bored lounging about the castle all day. In my centuries of existence, my attention span had become rather short. I had been driven nearly to distraction in the time that Keira was missing, and that was but a few short days. I simply could not imagine lounging around the palace day and night without a thing to do.

A knock on the door interrupted my contemplation, and I pushed myself from my seat on the lounge. I gave myself a glance in the gilt-framed mirror and I adjusted the state of disarray that was my hair. The door opened, and I looked over my shoulder to see that Page was entering the office with fat stack of parchment burdening her arms.

"You realize that the protocol for knocking is that one waits for a response before entering a room, yes?" I questioned, curling a lip in distaste.

"Oh stop whining, Reaver," she muttered, her eyes rolling slightly. "I can't see how Keira puts up with it. It's not very endearing."

"Neither is being a _cunt_," I said curtly, putting my hands on my hips. My temperament was teetering on the edge of anger, and my hand had a habit of moving hastily to my pistol under such circumstances.

"Is that the best insult you can come up with?" She snorted with laughter as she dropped the stack onto my desk.

I shrugged my shoulders gently, "Brevity is the soul of wit, dear Page."

"With an insult like that it seems like your wit has become rather..._impotent_" She said, crossing her arms over her ample bosom, as she often did in my presence. Perhaps she meant to hinder my view of them, but she failed—actually pushing them up into a more exposed position. I found myself so distracted by her breasts that I didn't bother retorting to her baiting. So many days without a woman's attention made even _Page _a viable option for dalliance, but I restrained myself. Stooping so low would only degrade me.

I took a seat behind my desk, and I looked at the papers she'd just deposited. Pulling them toward me, I returned my gaze to her eyes. "What are these?"

"They're deeds to various mines and plots of land in Aurora," she told me. "You realize I'm not your secretary? I'm your—"

"Liaison to the people," I interrupted her. "What is a secretary but a liaison between myself and _everyone else_? Now scurry off, and tell one of those useless oafs out there to bring me my coffee. I've gone all morning without it."

"Oh, poor thing," She sneered. "How ever could you manage without your morning coffee?"

I narrowed my eyes at her, my hand creeping dangerously close to the holster at my hip. "You would be wise not to bite the hand that feeds you because that hand is a lot quicker than you will ever be. Now go. If my coffee is not in front of me in ten minutes...well...I am positive that whatever happens will not be pleasant."

"You are a miserable excuse for a human being , Reaver," Page scoffed, her posture stiffening and her lips pursing.

"Miserable I am most certainly not," I laughed. "What do I have to be miserable about? I am The King, after all."

"You are no king, Reaver," She said. "You're simply married to The Queen."

"I think you must refresh yourself on the definition of King, dearie," I told her, my rich voice ringing as sweet as a bell. "Now, whoever is to bring me my coffee has only nine minutes to make it and bring it to me. You'd better be sure to let _someone _know hastily."

She whirled around, storming out of the room in a brood. She slammed the door behind her, and I couldn't help but laugh at the state she was in. Perhaps my mood would be salvaged after a nice, hot cup of coffee.

I pulled out my pocket watch, glancing at the elaborately decorated face. The arms pointed at ten and five, and I smirked. I had only a few short hours before I would have Keira as my captive audience. I would have to share her with Wesley for a short time, but he was easily ignored. How could she possibly pay him any mind when I would be so very close?

I flipped through the various documents and contracts that Page had brought before me. She had left a little note on the front, informing me that the documents require only my signature in key places, but I was not satisfied. I would have to read everything for myself. Over the years, I had developed a quick, accurate eye for words, and in a short time, I was able to find quite a few discrepancies that I did not find acceptable. I would have to have someone redraft the whole thing.

As the door flung open, a nervous-looking young woman entered the room with a tray. She huffed and puffed as she hurried toward me. Amazingly, not a drop of my coffee was spilled when she set the tray on the desk. She gave a stiff curtsy, her eyes never meeting with mine, and she turned around to exit the room as swiftly as she'd entered.

I glanced to my watch, and I saw that she'd made it within the time limit I had allocated. My eyebrows shot up in surprise, and I smirked a little. It was good to know that good, old fashioned intimidation still worked in some circumstances. With my wife, I would have to take a different approach. I picked up my cup, and I sipped at the dark, fragrant drink as I returned my attention to my work.

* * *

**-Keira-**

As Anabelle pulled the garment from its box, her eyes widened, and she struggled to suppress a look of shock. The dress was a deep scarlet made from the softest-looking velvet. While I usually wouldn't pick a velvet gown for lingering heat of the dying summer, it was a beautiful garment, and it was simply for the occasion of the portrait.

"I thought for sure that he'd send you a scrap of cloth and say that would be it," she marveled, a hint of humor in her held the dress up high to allow me to capture it as a whole.

It looked as if it would cling to my body tightly in the bodice, but the skirt flowed loosely outward. Other than that, it was rather plain with a few gold embellishments around the low-scooping bust-line, but it was the cut of the dress that made it so alluring.

Anabelle assisted me in dressing, and I found that the dress fit me perfectly as did most gifts of clothing that Reaver had bestowed upon me in the past, though he'd never officially measured me. I supposed he had a very good eye for this sort of thing. I sat down, opting for a simple golden locket and matching earrings.

"You're quiet," Anabelle noted. "Are you nervous?"

The question caught me a little off guard. "Why would I be nervous?"

"Because you haven't seen him in nearly a week, Your Majesty," She said bluntly, swooping my hair out of my face and running a brush through it. "I do not know the extent of what happened, but from what I know of you, it must not have been good."

I pressed my lips tightly together as she started to work my hair into an elaborate braided bun. I exhaled, and I saw that her eyes watched me in the mirror, waiting for my reply. I folded my hands in my lap, and my eyes , "Reaver has been...unfaithful."

"Is that so surprising, Your Majesty?" She asked tenderly. "He has been known to be quite the hedonist. It isn't as if this was a union of love, right?"

I was silent, and I opened my eyes again.

A knowing look crossed her features, and she averted her gaze from mine in the mirror. She said nothing, but she worked silently at my hair until it was perfectly arranged.

* * *

When Anabelle and I entered the room allotted for the sitting, I saw that we were the last to arrive. Reaver was seated across from Murphy and Wesley, each of them enjoying a drink. When Murphy's eyes caught sight of us, he bolted upright from his seat to bow to me, and he gave a swift, genial nod in Anabelle's direction.

Anabelle, taking her sweet time, made her way to him, offering him her hand, which he took and kissed.

My husband and the painter were also on their feet, but it was Wesley who reached me first, taking my hand and kissing the back of it tenderly. Reaver's face went sour momentarily, but when Wesley released me, he moved to my side. He took both of my hands in his, and he offered me a smile of excitement. He was dressed in a suit of all black save for his deep red shirt, which I'm sure would look very nice with the dress that I wore.

"Well, my darling wife, it is very refreshing to see you looking so well," He said. "You're lovely, especially after fighting off such a nasty fever for nearly a week solid." He brought a hand up to stroke the side of my face, but he turned his eyes toward Wesley. "She wouldn't have me near her, the dear. What if I, too, had fallen ill? Where would Albion have been then?"

His touch was tender, and it made my stomach leap forward, but I drew away hastily. I turned my eyes about the room to see that Anabelle had taken to speaking quietly to Murphy, whose face was slightly more composed in her presence. The pair stood near the double doors leading to the garden, inching closer as the moments passed. Anabelle's eyes flicked up to me momentarily, and she shot me a broad, dazzling smile.

"If I may be so bold, Your Majesty, ou look even more radiant than ever," Wesley put in, his mouth turning up into a flirtatious grin. "It will be quite the task to capture such breathtaking beauty, but I believe that I am up to it."

"Now, my friend," Reaver said, putting his arm around Wesley's shoulders and leading him toward his easel. "I am more than confident in your abilities to capture my _beautiful_ wife and myself, so let us begin, shall we?"

Nodding, Wesley started to set up his supplies, and Reaver made his way toward me once more.

His hand on my back sent a chill through my body, and I turned to face him. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on my forehead, and it felt more taunting than affectionate. Perhaps he was taunting me because he knew I was still upset with him but would not cause a scene in such company, or perhaps he was taunting Wesley by parading me in front of him like some sort of trophy.

I said nothing as we moved toward the area that had been designated for the painting. I glanced around, seeing that there was nowhere to sit, I could only assume that we would be standing for this portrait.

"I'm terribly sorry about the standing for hours on end," Wesley said, his bright eyes apologetic. "The height difference is quite difficult to work around, and your husband did insist on standing for this portrait. Let me know if you get too tired, and we will take as many breaks as needed, Your Majesty." He smiled at me as wide as he could.

Reaver chuckled heartily, "Oh, I would not worry about my dear Keira's stamina, Mister Crane. She has proven herself to be quite capable of enduring long hours of activity." I could feel his hand close around my arm tenderly just before he added, "On the battlefield, of course." He pulled me toward him, my head tucking nearly perfectly beneath his chin.

"That will be lovely," Wesley commented, now observing us with an artist's scrutinizing eye. "Now, Reaver, if you could just put an arm around her, perhaps?"

"Gladly," Reaver's voice smoldered, and he slipped an arm around my waist. He pulled me back against his body. His fingers splayed possessively across the flat plane of my stomach, but they were tender, teasing me with the softest of caresses.

A shiver worked its way through me, and I exhaled, now feeling slightly frustrated. He was definitely testing the limits of my tolerance. I straightened, and I found myself looking for Murphy and Anabelle.

They had left the room, and I nearly groaned in disappointment. Reaver and I were alone, save for Wesley, but he was now intently focused on observing the way in which we were posed and working at capturing us on canvas.

"You have not asked how I have fared in the days we have been separated," Reaver said, sounding decidedly offended. His free hand stealthily traced the curve of my backside, causing my body to tense and melt all at once.

"I know you well enough to believe that you would tell me regardless of whether I wanted to know or not," I quipped, trying to feign a sense of fortitude.

Laughter rumbled in his chest, and his grip around me tightened. "Oh, my dear, what a sharp tongue you have. I had forgotten how much your use of it amuses me."

I blinked softly, and I looked up to see that Wesley was grinning at Reaver's comment, and I cleared my throat. "We both know that you have an affinity for many tongues...not only mine."

Wesley snorted softly from behind his canvas, and I knew that he was holding back laughter.

"That very well may be, but it is your tongue that interests me right now," Reaver murmured quietly. He pushed his hips into me, and I could feel the bulge of his manhood against the small of my back. "This little portrait was not scheduled because I felt we needed to pose together. We both know that I need another picture of myself like a drowning man needs a glass of water."

My heart caught in my throat, I tried to look a little more composed and remind myself of the reason I'd been avoiding him for the past days. He'd betrayed my trust—however misplaced that trust was. "You scheduled a portrait because..?"

"I have tried in vain to commandeer a little of your time in the past days, but it seemed this was the only way to capture your undivided attention," He said, his hand sliding down the back of my thigh.

I managed to pull my leg away from his touch while still maintaining our pose, and I moistened my lips. "What was it that you wanted to do with that time? Surely you could have found someone else to-?"

"Is it so difficult to believe that I simply wished to see you?" He asked in a hushed tone. "I am still your husband, and I am certainly entitled to take up a small wedge of your time."

"I was not ready to see you, and I am not ready to talk about this," I said quietly. "Now, can we just get through this without any more conversation? I've had enough."

I could see Wesley's eyes peeking curiously around the canvas, trying to decode the meaning of our terse argument, but he when he saw that I was looking, he returned to his work.

A long while passed where nothing was said. Reaver continued to tease me with soft caresses of my stomach, and every once in a while, he would press his unwavering arousal against me. His breathing was deep and steady, but from the way he shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, I could tell that his will was waning.

"I thought perhaps we could take supper together tonight..." He whispered as he leaned against my ear. His hot breath ghosted across the lobe, and he squeezed me gently in his grip. "Then, we can talk...or not talk. It matters not to me. So long as you are close...perhaps closer."

My pulse throbbed in my veins, and I drew in a shaky breath. I found myself wishing that Anabelle and Murphy had stuck around to help ease the tension between Reaver and myself. I suddenly remembered that there _was_ another person in the room, and he would make the perfect escape from Reaver's advances.

"Wesley," I said loudly. "How have you fared since the last time you were here at the castle? I hope that you have kept busy."

He glanced around the canvas to give me a broad smile. "Very busy, Your Majesty, but it is always an honor to rush to cater to your every artistic need." His laughter was soft, but his eyes were fixed boldly on mine.

Reaver's grip on me tightened, and I could feel his posture tense. He said nothing, but the way he pressed me tighter into his body spoke volumes.

"Perhaps I should not have waited so long to have another portrait made," I said, tilting my chin up a little and offering him a small, genial smile. "I so enjoyed your company during our sittings."

"Not nearly as much I enjoyed yours, Your Majesty. I could listen to your stories for hours. Your voice is just so..." he trailed off, chewing softly on his lower lip, completely ignoring Reaver, who was now gripping me intensely. "Melodic. I could listen to you speak about anything, I am sure." His voice was now low and almost seductive.

I could feel the rush of blood to my cheeks, and a wider, more genuine smile tugged at my lips.

"I think," Reaver said sharply, "that we have stood here long enough." He released me suddenly, and he stepped toward the canvas. His face was edged with a flush of anger, and he looked to Wesley. "May I have a few moments to speak privately with my wife before you pack up and leave?"

Wesley, looking suddenly flabbergasted, nodded, and he hurried out of the room. He didn't hesitate or argue because it was obvious he knew Reaver well enough to realize that one did not want to linger while he was in a foul mood.

Turning toward me, Reaver grasped me tightly by the arms. "Just _what was_ that little display, hmm?"

"It was innocent conversation," I said, my gaze tilting up to meet with his.

"_Innocent_," he spat, his eyes turning to dark, angry slits. "You preach fidelity on one day, and flirt shamelessly with the first man to walk by on another. You are _anything_ but innocent. You cannot lie to me about this, Keira." My name left his mouth with such anger and disdain that I nearly recoiled.

"Maybe you should have thought about the consequences of your debauchery," I spat, jerking away from him. "It isn't as if you have been faithful to me, even after my return. You've probably found another little trollop around the castle by now."

His brow furrowed, as if my statement had truly caught him off guard.

"Do you truly believe me to be so callous?" he questioned through tight lips, taking a hold of me once more. "so blind to what has happened in the past week—to what it all could mean?"

"Yes," I said simply. I wasn't even sure what my deal with The Shadow Court changed between us, but to Reaver, it seemed to mean _something_.

"There has been _no one_ else," Reaver snarled, a dark tone in his voice. He released me, and he spun on heel to head toward the door. His hand flung outward, and he shoved Wesley's easel sharply, and it toppled to the ground, along with the paints and brushes he'd only just started to work with. He exited the room, the door slamming behind him, and I jumped.

I couldn't bring myself to truly believe that Reaver had been faithful over the past few days. What could have possibly changed him so profoundly that he would simply stop? If his words were true, what were his motives? Did he truly wish to have normal marriage, or was he simply acting with caution until the whole situation blew over?

I moved across toward the over-turned easel, and I lifted the canvas. The parts that were painted had been smudged and smeared. The work was clearly ruined, but what Wesley had managed to capture in the sketchy beginnings of his painting was Reaver's possessive hold on me and the sheer heat of his gaze, which was turned down to me. I inhaled, and I set the canvas back down.

My nerves were raw, and my head was aching, now. I crossed my arms over my chest, and I found myself looking down to the painting again. He'd been jealous of Wesley.

Hadn't he gotten enough out of me yet? He'd attained his title, his glory, his place in the monarchy. What more could he possibly desire? I knew that asking myself these questions did no good, but I still found myself hesitant to confront him again. I felt like a broken record, repeatedly bringing up his infidelity, but it was always on my mind, eating away at my remaining strands of sanity. I tried to swallow the growing lump in my throat, but I couldn't seem to shake it.

Deep down, I knew why this affected me so profoundly, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it. I didn't want to say the words aloud because it would make it real. If it was real, then I was truly a fool—more naïve and weak than a queen should be.

No. I couldn't admit to it. It wasn't real. It was just my lingering sadness getting the better of me. I had to push this from my mind and move on no matter how heartbroken and downtrodden I felt, no matter how devastating the past months had been. If I was to stay sane, I would have to overcome this.

**A/N: I know this one took a while to get out, but I had a lot going on. I hope you enjoyed it, and please leave a review to let me know what you think! I thrive on the feedback. GIMMIE! **

**On another note, I'd like to thank my awesome betareader, angelacm, for all she's done to shove me along as I struggled with this chapter. If not for her, it might have taken EVEN LONGER to get out!**

**I also would like to give a shout-out to the ladies over at Alternative Albion for giving this a read and giving opinions! Much appreciated!**

**Thanks for reading, and I will have more out as soon as I can write it! **


	16. Still

**Chapter Sixteen**

**-Reaver-**

The door slammed behind me, and I was faced with Wesley, who waited casually outside. His face was smug, as if he'd heard everything, and the rage boiled in the pit of my stomach. I grasped him by his skinny neck, and I pressed him against the wall. "What do you find so amusing, _Mister Crane?_"

He coughed beneath my grip, but the smile on his face widened. "You have the crown jewels of Albion, and you've cocked it all up, Reaver. Any other man would be thankful for capturing her hand, but-"

My fingers tightened around his throat, and his face reddened, the smile draining away. "Listen here, you insignificant cur. She is my wife._ Mine_. You have no business trying to enchant her with your empty, frivolous words, nor do you have any business looking at her as more than a subject, do you understand? Or can your tiny brain not hold that much information?"

"She didn't seem to mind my words _or_ my eyes," he choked, his hand moving to my wrist.

"An artist _needs _eyes, does he not? To observe, to capture, to behold the world as only an artist can?" I questioned, my free hand moving to cup his face. My thumb stroked the orbital socket around his widened crystalline eye. "It would be _such _a shame for you to lose one...or both of your eyes."

"You wouldn't dare," he spat. I could feel his pulse quicken at the side of his neck.

A slow grin uncurled across my mouth. "I wouldn't?"

His eyes winced shut, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

For a moment, I was excited. I hadn't had the opportunity for such violence in months, and a little part of me craved it. My thumb slid closer to the soft, orb that lay beneath his thick, ginger lashes. I had done this before. It hadn't been especially pleasant, but the little cockroach had deserved it. Suddenly, the excitement fell away, and it was replaced by repulsion. The jealousy crept up inside of me, and I knew that if I did this, I would only tarnish myself in _her_ eyes. I released him hastily, and I stepped away, turning and leaving before another word could be exchanged.

Frustration piled on top of frustration, and I knew that soon I would reach my limit. Something dire would happen, one way or another. My legs carried me swiftly from the hallway, and my hand curled into a fist.

I needed some sort of release, and I needed it quickly. My fuse was already short due to the time of year—the time for my annual offering to The Shadow Court—but with all of these additional burdens dropped onto me, it was nearly unbearable. In another time, I may have already snapped, but I was stronger now, though my strength was not without limits. It was waning, and I could feel the familiar tendrils of stress and apprehension taking hold. I could only hope that whoever I came across the rest of the day would be accommodating because I certainly would not be very pleasant.

* * *

**-Keira-**

I paced across the study, not quite sure what to do with myself. If I left, I might run into Reaver, but there was always the chance that he would return. I smoothed the front of my dress, and I tried to soothe my frazzled nerves. His words had cut deeply, and I almost felt guilty for being so accusatory. I had to remind myself that he _had, _in fact cheated not even a full fortnight ago.

The door burst open, and I was shocked to see Wesley to return in a silent rush. His eyes never so much as glanced in my direction, and his mouth was tight with something that looked like a mixture of fear and anger. I let him gather his items in silence, and as he left the room, he gave me one, short, fleeting glance before his eyes snapped forward. He closed the door behind him.

I knew immediately that Reaver had sought out Wesley and threatened him with violence. A small angry bubble formed in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn't believe the nerve of my husband. One moment, he was dipping his wick into my handmaiden, and the next moment, he was frothing at the mouth, asserting his possession of me.

I crossed my arms over my chest. Not knowing where Anabelle had gone off to, it seemed that I had the rest of the evening to myself. The thought of climbing into bed and sleeping the rest of the night away was very tempting, especially with the throbbing headache that only worsened with my anxiety.

I stepped out into the gardens for the first time since the dreadful night in the mausoleum. My stomach turned unpleasantly, and I sucked in a breath of warm air. I hurried toward the kitchen entrance, hoping to make it to my quarters without anyone noticing. Perhaps time on my own would do me good. I'd had enough of everyone for the day—especially Reaver.

My eyes strayed toward the statue of Logan, and my lips tightened. Thoughts of the corpse-like apparition of my brother still lingered at the back of my thoughts. It would be a long time, if ever, that I would be able to think of my brother as anything else. Averting my eyes, I lifted the skirt of my gown and ascended the stairs. The armed guards posted at the doors greeted me in unison, bowing their heads into soft nods of respect. I pasted a strained, but hopefully convincing, smile on my face, and swept into the kitchen, catching the chef and all of his assistants off guard.

"Your Majesty!" The chef said, his thick, foreign accent drawing out his vowels. "Will you be taking supper in your chambers tonight?"

"Yes," I affirmed with a short nod. "Thank you."

"It is no problem, Your Majesty," He continued with a nod.

At that moment, Jasper came hurriedly into the kitchen, his eyes widening with surprise as he spotted me. "Your Majesty, I was just coming to confirm your dinner plans. I couldn't find you, so I assumed that you would be taking supper in your chambers."

For a moment, I wanted to cringe that my predictability had been so very obvious, but I simply nodded again.

Jasper's face wrinkled in concern, and he put an arm on my shoulder. "Your Majesty, I do not know what has been troubling you this week, but I would like you to know that it is not your burden to shoulder alone. You have people that care for you."

I brought my eyes up to his, and I felt comforted and ashamed at the same time. I knew I would never be able to tell Jasper what had really happened upon my return to Bowerstone Castle. The shame would be too great. Instead, I stepped toward him, and I patted his shoulder gently. "Thank you, Jasper."

"May I take a walk with you?" He asked, his eyes glancing back toward the kitchen's entrance.

I nodded, and as we made our way up the stairs, I could see Jasper eying me, as if he were trying to string together words. He walked at my side, just a step behind, but he kept up with my pace.

"Your husband has taken on a much more agitated demeanor since your return," Jasper said tentatively.

I sighed. "Things are...complicated."

"Marriage is complicated," Jasper offered. "But your husband's...ah...misstep...do not seem like the sole root of the problem."

He knew about Reaver's infidelity. Of course. How could he not? I was sure that the entirety of the palace staff knew. Reaver hadn't exactly been discreet. He seemed to believe that he didn't have anything to hide. I exhaled. "It was, but..."

"But?" He raised an eyebrow, listening.

I paused just before we exited the corridor into the foyer. "I'm unsure of what to do."

"You are The Queen," Jasper said. "You could do as you wished, and there wouldn't be many people to stop you. You could banish him from Albion if you so pleased." He offered a small smile.

I shook my head. "I don't think I could do that. He's too important."

"Too important to Albion, or too important to you?" Jasper questioned, his eyebrows raising.

My heart jumped up into my throat, and I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came. I turned my eyes toward the staircase, now desperate to escape the conversation. As much as I loved Jasper, this was too much for the moment.

"Jasper, I..." I truly didn't know what to say.

His eyes shifted to a look of soft sympathy momentarily, but he straightened his back, and he bowed his head gently. "Pardon my boldness, Your Majesty. That question was inappropriate. If you'll excuse me, I'll see to it that your meal is prepared and brought to your chambers when you are ready for it."

I gulped softly, and I said, "Thank you, Jasper."

He gave me a deep bow, and he turned to head toward the kitchen once more.

I took the steps with a slow, deliberate pace. I didn't want to rush through the castle to my room. It might rouse suspicion, if my staff wasn't already suspicious of my behavior. I did not want to worry the people any further with my behavior. I needed them to believe that I was getting better.

I folded my hands in front of me, and I turned down the hallway toward the living quarters. It was strangely cleared of guards, and I felt a strange tugging at my heart. Something didn't seem quite right. I stepped further down the corridor, my heart drummed nervously beneath my breast, and I found myself passing up the door to my chambers.

A feminine moan, followed by a soft giggle sounded from behind the door to Reaver's room. I paused, and my fists tightened at my sides. My teeth gritted as I stood waiting, hoping to hear something else. Perhaps I had just imagined it. Would Reaver truly repeat his mistake when he knew that it had wounded me so? I heard another moan, and my feet moved before I could properly think. I sprang toward the door, throwing it open in a fury that rattled the hinges. "Reaver, you-"

I heard a sharp squeak, and I suddenly realized the mistake I'd made in my jealous haste.

Murphy scrambled to cover Anabelle, who had her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Both were nude, sprawled across Reaver's plush dark duvet. I'd gotten quite the view of Murphy's backside, and Anabelle's ample bosom, and I nearly covered my eyes with embarrassment. When she spotted me, her eyes went wide, and her face flushed a deep red. Murphy sputtered, attempting to form a word, but failing miserably, and I found myself stepping backward to close the door once more.

I backed directly into someone, whose familiar hands closed around my arms. Nervous laughter bubbled out of me before I could turn to face Reaver, and I heard him join in, though his laughter was full of mirth. He turned me around, his face lit up with amusement as he observed me.

"Well, I would, on all other occasions be rather upset with Murphy, but-" His cackling consumed his words, and he shook his head, as if to dismiss his anger absolutely. His eyes met with mine, and his dazzling, sharky grin only broadened.

For a few moments I was tickled with delight at the situation, but when Reaver cupped my face in one hand, my body tensed. This was much closer than I would have liked, and I tried to back from his grip. "Reaver, I really should be-"

His finger moved to press against my lips, silencing me. His gaze had shifted from regalement to smoldering in a matter of moments. "No, you shouldn't," he said firmly.

My body, now pressed between Reaver's and the wooden paneling of the wall, thrummed with a sharp rush of both excitement and worry. My breathing became shallow, and my heart hammered wildly as his fingers stroked the length of my neck. I suddenly felt helpless like a moth moving steadily toward a flame—toward its own destruction. My lips parted, and my eyebrows raised as I tried to think of something, anything, to say.

When his mouth claimed mine completely, I tried to protest, but my arms fell slack at my sides as my body moved instinctively toward his. A flood of warmth spread through me, and I felt a soft moan leave me before I had the sense to restrain myself.

Reaver looped an arm around my waist, dragging me as close to him as I could physically get. He kissed me hungrily, as if he'd been yearning for this for a lifetime.

I came to my senses, and my eyes opened. I couldn't let this happen. I needed time to find myself, to know where I stood. I pushed at his chest, trying to separate him from me, but his free hand caught me. His fingers laced with mine, and he pinned the offending hand over my head.

I found myself grasping at his collar with my other hand, and instead of pushing him away, I held him tightly to me. I could hardly believe it, but even after everything, I still needed this. I still needed him. The need I felt spiraled nearly out of control, and I was not sure if I'd ever get a grasp on myself.

He pulled from the kiss to breathe, and his gaze fixed on mine once more. Lust swirled the piercing darkness of his eyes.

My mouth throbbed from the ferocity of his kiss, and I let out a shaky breath. My fingers loosened around his cravat, which I'd been clutching so tightly that my knuckles had gone white from tension. My knees trembled beneath me, as he loomed closer once more, his mouth barely touching to mine.

"I _know_ that you need me as desperately as I need you..." he murmured against my mouth as he released my hand, trailing his fingers to caress my breast through the soft velvet of my bodice.

The chemistry between us had always been so effortless—natural-but something told me that his possessiveness as of late was due to something else. A flutter of hope moved through me, and I splayed my hands across his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath them.

He drew back to take me in and a slow grin crept across his mouth. His eyes flicked up and down, and he exhaled, "I _need_ to feel you." As his lips moved to devour the length of my neck, his hands drifted to my hips, bunching up the fabric of my skirt, expressing his intention to have me right there against the wall.

A knot of longing formed in the pit of my stomach, and I shook my head. "Not here," I managed to mutter.

"I have been waiting for you for a _long time_. I cannot wait much longer, _mon ange,_" he groaned, guiding my hand to stroke the swollen bulge of his manhood, demonstrating his need.

My heart fluttered, and I chewed on my lower lip. "My bed chamber is only..." I glanced down the hallway, and the trip seemed to be so very long.

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, nipping and kissing every inch of flesh he could as he pressed me tighter against the wall. One of his arms looped beneath my thigh, bringing it to wrap around his waist, pushing the generous fabric of my skirt up to my hip. He pressed his hardness against the source of my heat, and he groaned unashamedly.

"Someone will see," I hissed, half-excitedly. I looked over the top of his head, down the utterly empty hallway. A little part of me was thrilled at the prospect of the adventure, but the larger part knew that it would be imprudent to allow Reaver to claim me publicly. I was still The Queen, and I had a certain facade of austerity to maintain.

I slipped skillfully from beneath him, and he turned suddenly to face me. His eyes rolled with exasperation, and he huffed impatiently as he grasped me by the wrist. He dragged me down the hall, his eyes slashing back to me every few paces. The sheer intensity of his fleeting gazes made my stomach jump.

He threw open the door to my bedchambers, pulling me inside, and the door closed swiftly behind us. He clicked the lock into place, and his mouth was on mine once more with such a force of desperation that it knocked the wind from my lungs. His tongue danced and curled against mine, and a sound of fierce need left his throat.

I pulled the coat from Reaver's shoulders, and it slipped to the floor with no resistance from him. I snaked my arms around him, and his hands gripped tightly at my backside. I was suddenly off of my feet, and we were moving swiftly toward the bed. When my back touched the mattress, I barely had time to acclimate to the change in position before he was pulling my skirts up around my waist. My undergarments disappeared with a sudden ripping noise, and he settled between my thighs.

With one hand, he supported himself against the bed, and with the other, he worked avidly at unfastening his pants, never once breaking the desperate union of our mouths. I slid my hands between us, tugging his pants down his hips just as he undid them.

Without a moment's pause, he was inside me to the hilt, and I was forced to draw away from his mouth to catch my breath. Spots danced across my vision. The passion of our union was acutely sweet, but also primal and hungry. A ragged groan of relief escaped his parted lips, and his eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy.

As he started a hurried, needy rhythm with his hips, the budding heat within me unfurled, and I dug my fingers into the lean sinew of his shoulder through the soft burgundy fabric of his shirt. My breathing came in shallow pants as I arched my hips into him, matching his erratic, passionate cadence.

"Reaver," my voice was little more than a squeak of tension as I threw my head back against the bed.

His hand captured my chin, tilting my gaze to meet with his. A satisfied thrill was written all over his handsome features, and he spoke through his own punctuated gasps for breath, "Oh, Keira...I _have_ missed this...missed _you_." His eyes were full of wanton darkness, but there was also a strange, thrilled tenderness about them.

I averted my eyes, the intensity of his stare causing a knot to build in my throat. I pressed my lips together, and I curled an arm around his neck, urging him forward to kiss the side of my throat.

He took the guidance readily, and one of his hands pulled at the collar of my dress. Another loud rip, and my left breast spilled free into the open air. He kneaded the rosy peak of the burgeoning swell between his fingers, sending a jolt of pleasure to compound the building orgasm inside of me. I gasped in surprise, but it was also a noise of encouragement.

Reaver murmured against my neck, "Oh, darling...so soon?"

"Yes," I huffed desperately, almost wanting to damn him for the smug, taunting tone of his voice.

"Look at me," he demanded in a breathy grunt as he pulled from my neck, once more forcing me to meet with his eyes.

I couldn't do anything but stare into his eyes as my limbs stiffened, and I was seized by a rush of sensation so intense that it made my toes curl within my shoes. I cried out, and a tremor of uncontrollable trembling worked its way through me as the warmth of my pleasure spread.

His eyes remained locked on mine as he carried me through the waves of my dizzying release, and his tongue glided across his lips, moistening them. His hand drifted to my face, his thumb stroking across my quivering mouth.

I fell slack against the mattress, and Reaver took this as his opportunity to lean closer, pressing the weight of his body tightly against mine. He ground his hips against me, and I yelped at the sudden change in intensity. His rhythm slowed, and his body loosened.

"I believe I can take my time, now," he explained. "For I am in no hurry for this to be over." He brushed his mouth against mine, and he laughed against my lips. "I have been anticipating this moment for quite some time." He stroked the length of my face. "You _are_ well the worth wait _ma très chère." _

His voice was tender, genuine, and I found that a knot was growing in my throat once more. I pressed my face against his neck, kissing and nibbling at his flesh but also hiding the budding tears in the corners of my eyes.

Why did I have to feel this? Why couldn't it be as simple as I had intended it to be when I signed his contract?

I wiped at my leaking eyes, pretending to be wiping perspiration from my face, and I observed him for a moment. He looked nothing like the hardened business man that ruled Bowerstone Industrial with a tight, gilded fist. He was a completely different creature right here with me. He looked the faintest bit vulnerable as his eyes observed me in return, but his usual grin of confidence swept across his features. Perhaps I was simply looking at him through different eyes now. Perhaps I was simply looking past his many faults, but something in me needed him so desperately that it had almost been hard to breathe in the days I'd stayed away.

_I __**love **__him._

"Why so quiet, dear?" he chuckled. "Have I rendered you speechless? It would not be the first-"

I silenced him with a kiss, cupping his angular jaw in both hands, drawing his face closer to me as I dropped back into the bed. He returned the kiss with a tender enthusiasm, and he groaned against my tongue.

As we kissed, our bodies worked into a frenzied carnal dance. His grip was decidedly more fierce on the side of my face. A groan of building ecstasy escaped him, and he pulled away from the kiss. His face was all tension and he looked lost in the feel of his building release.

"Oh, Keira." His voice was almost pleading as he surged and ebbed inside of me.

My body reacted violently to the sound of my name on his voice, and I, too, was approaching that familiar crest of passion. "Reaver," I sighed heatedly.

Our eyes were locked again as I spilled over my edge once more, and the clenching of my body around his pushed him across the line. He spilled himself into me in a moment of fiery release. He sucked in a long, shuddering lungful of air, and his body slowed, then stilled completely on top of me.

His head came to rest in the crook of my neck, and the hot flare of his shivering breath against my neck brought me more satisfaction than I could have imagined.

"Well," He exhaled. "So much for making it _last_." He laughed softly, pressing a few fleeting kisses against my neck.

Before I could answer, there was a soft knock at the door, and I heard Jasper say, "Your Majesty, are you ready for your supper to be served?"

Reaver raised an eyebrow, as if he, too, were anticipating my answer. He withdrew from between my legs, rolling onto his back, his eyes never straying from my face.

"Ah, Jasper," I said loudly. "I think that I will take supper in the dining hall..." I glanced over to my husband, who was now pulling his trousers back up onto his hips. "And have a place set for Reaver. He will be joining me."

"Delightful," Reaver said softly, his mouth curling into a smirk.

"At...At once, Your Majesty," Jasper said, sounding slightly confused.

In a quick, fluid motion, Reaver was off of the bed, and he offered me a hand. He pulled me from the mattress, and he pressed me against his chest. His lips touched to mine briefly, and he chuckled slightly as his eyes drifted down the front of my ruined dress. "I think, perhaps, you should change clothes before we dine. It would not bother _me_ to be able to gaze upon your luscious breasts all through supper, but I am sure that you would prefer to be fully clothed...until we have replenished our energy, at least." His eyebrows shot up suggestively, and he moved toward the armoire.

I followed him, pulling my hair from its now utterly ravished style. "I am capable of dressing myself."

"Is that so? Then I daresay poor Anabelle might be out of a job," he snorted with mirth. He pulled out a white, flowing dress, and he ran his fingers over the soft gossamer fabric of its skirt. "This is the dress that you wore the first night you came to me." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"It is," I confirmed, my heart suddenly throbbing in my chest. The fact that he'd remembered precisely what I'd been wearing shocked me.

He held the dress out to me, and his mouth still fixed in a tender smile, melting my resistance completely.

Stepping forward, I took the garment from him, and I sighed. "Help me out of this."

"Gladly."

* * *

The servants tried to hide their shock—unsuccessfully—at mine and Reaver's choice to take supper in the dining room together. They had obviously taken notice of our separation and my reclusive behavior in the past week, but it also seemed to comfort them that I had made an appearance.

Reaver was only too happy to take his seat at to my right, even scooting his chair close enough to me that he could reach beneath the table and stroke my thigh from time to time. Perhaps it was to flaunt to everyone present that he had come back into my good graces, or maybe he was hoping to entice me into the bedroom once more.

We kept the conversation light, but Reaver's words, as always, had a double meaning to them. I had to clear my throat to keep from laughing when he noted out loud how much he enjoyed such tender breasts—the chicken's of course.

For a short while, I forgot the sadness that had I had been engrossed in for so long. I found myself returning his fleeting playful touches, and that pleased him to no end. He, more than once, leaned over toward me to place a soft, modest kiss upon my cheek, and that seemed to spark the interest of the servants more renowned for gossip.

After dinner had ended and we made our way back to my bedchamber, Reaver looped my arm in his, his face turning to offer me a smug grin. A small smile curved my lips, and it seemed to satisfy him.

Reaver opened the door to my chambers, and he allowed me to enter before he closed the door behind us. "Now, I am not sure about you, my dear, but I am absolutely ready for bed."

It was, indeed, late. Our dinner had been served on the tardy side, due to our tryst, and the moon was already bright in the sky outside my window. I turned to him, and I crossed my arms over my chest, "Then I suppose this is good night."

He tugged at the knot of his cravat, and he shrugged. "It does not have to be. I could stay."

"Stay?" I questioned, my eyebrows raising and a faint laugh leaving me. The offer was certainly surprising.

"Is it so preposterous?" He asked. "Is it not what most married couples do?" He stepped closer, now unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. "And I certainly cannot return to my chambers after discovering that the help has taken it upon themselves to thoroughly sully my bed."

I uncrossed my arms, and I swept a hand through my hair. For a moment, I wanted to question his motives for wanting to stay in my bed, but I let my critical curiosity slip away. I pulled the earrings from my ears, and I stepped toward the vanity to stash them in their place. I looked at his reflection in the mirror, and I saw that he was now removing his waistcoat and shirt all at once.

"It might also assure you that I am not cavorting with harlots at all hours of the night," he snickered, depositing his clothing across the back of the wing back chair next to the fireplace.

My gaze dropped from the mirror, and I struggled with the clasp to the golden locket that hung from my neck. My heart thudded with something akin to nervous excitement. I felt almost pathetic. Here I was: The Queen of Albion, and I was in love with a man that did not, or possibly could not, love me back. But I still loved him, and I still wanted to be close to him.

Reaver, now completely stripped of clothing, stepped behind me, swept my hair to the side, then easily unclasped the locket from my neck. As he leaned forward to set the necklace in the open jewelry box, he laid a kiss against my neck, and he encircled me in his arms. "You are _very_ quiet, _ma belle._"

My gaze snapped up to meet his in the mirror, and I offered up a soft smile to his reflection. "It has been a long day," I said, as if it would explain my silence.

"It has," He agreed, twirling me slowly to face him. "Long, yet productive, I think."

My hand slid up the length of his torso, and I savored the feel of his taut, yet soft flesh. My eyes followed the path of my hand.

He unbuttoned my dress slowly as he led me toward the bed. His hands swept across my skin as he pulled the dress from my body, then my chemise, and he tossed them each skillfully across the same chair on which he'd stashed his own clothing. He pulled back the sheets, and he raised his eyebrows, as if instructing me to climb in before moving off to dim all of the lamps scattered about the room.

I slid between the covers, and I turned onto my side, facing the windows that spilled the soft moonlight into the room. I felt him slide into the bed behind me, and he pulled me into the crook of his body, draping and arm over my waist. His mouth swept across my bare shoulder, and it ignited a tortuous swirl of emotions within me. I closed my eyes, and I exhaled softly.

"Good night, Reaver," I said softly.

His arm tightened around me, and I heard him whisper, "Sleep well, my dear_._"

**A/N: So, I hope you enjoyed this one, and leave me a review to let me know what you thought! There's more on the way, and I'm super excited to get it all out there!**

**As always, I'd like to thank my betareader Angelacm for bearing with me and resisting the urge to bonk Keira (and probably me) on the head repeatedly. **


	17. Haunted

**-Chapter Seventeen-**

It was so very warm but in a pleasant way. I felt Reaver's arm clutched tightly, almost desperately around me. I drew in a deep breath, and I noticed the rapid, choppy cadence of his breathing. His grip on me was too fierce to break, but I was able to turn slightly to see him.

His brow was furrowed, and his face was tense and pale. His jaw was clenched tightly, and I heard a soft groan rumble in his chest. His eyelids twitched rapidly, and the groaning grew louder. His muscles contracted and his hold on me grew painful.

"Reaver," I said softly yet urgently, wishing I could turn to wake him gently, but I could scarcely move.

His lips parted, and the groaning turned into words. "No...Please. _I'm sorry_." The words were merely murmured, but his face was contorted with such pain, such defeat that it broke my heart. Whatever he was dreaming of, I somehow knew it had to do with The Shadow Court. Their intrusion in my dreams was still a fresh wound, but I snapped my attention back to my husband, twisting fiercely to face him.

I took his face in my hands, and I shook him firmly, "Reaver!"

His eyelids flew open, and his mouth fell slack with shock. A mixture of anger and panic was etched across his features, but his eyes were sad. He abruptly turned to face away from me, breathing in heavy, punctuated gasps. One hand covered his face as he tried to steady his breathing.

My stomach sank, and my heart ached. I never thought I would see him in such a state, but I supposed that I was foolish in that assumption. He wasn't unfeeling, as I knew, but the facade that he favored most times suggested otherwise. I put an arm around him in an attempt to comfort him, my hand laying across his chest, and I could feel the violent thunder of his heartbeat. "Reaver?"

Reaver shrugged my arm away, and he said nothing. His whole body was drawn with tension, and I could hear his shallow panting against his hand. He muttered something I couldn't quite hear. With a movement quicker than I could see, he had thrown the covers off of us, and he was on top of me, his mouth consuming mine with a desperation I had never felt before. His hands pulled at my hips gripping me fiercely as he crushed me beneath the hardness of his body, and the sheer heat that radiated from his core burned away the chill that the lack of blankets created.

My hand flew up to cup his face, and I felt moisture there. I couldn't tell if it was perspiration or tears, but I knew it would be unwise to ask about it or even acknowledge it. I pulled from his mouth to draw in a breath, but he went immediately to work at the side of my neck, his teeth scraping and lips drawing on my flesh. I gasped with exhilarated surprise as he slid his leg between my thighs to part them.

His fingers trailed across my sex, testing my readiness, and without much more hesitation, he buried himself inside of me. A ragged groan of relief sounded in my ear. His hips moved ferociously, and he overtook my mouth again, his tongue sweeping against mine, devouring me relentlessly.

My body reacted with shock at first, but I folded against him, the pleasure crashing over me and numbing my worry. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him tightly to me, and as my hips arched into his, I returned his kiss with a fierceness of my own.

He made a sound of frantic pleasure against my mouth, and his fingers raked down my body. He drew away from my lips to breathe, and he trembled, unraveling much faster than he usually would. His voice was hoarse as he crossed the threshold of pleasure, and he found the release he'd been so desperate for. He dropped breathlessly to the bed, and he rolled onto his back, his eyes fixed on the dark fabric of the canopy above.

I was equally as winded, and I turned my head to observe him closer. His face was now flush with exertion, but his mouth was fixed into a tight line of anxiety. He exhaled shakily, and his eyes closed. His arms slid limply to his sides, and he made a soft noise of frustration.

I slid my hand the short distance between us, and I laced my fingers in his, squeezing his hand gently.

His eyes opened, and he turned his face to look at me. His eyes were wide and haunted, but his mouth softened, and he sighed. It was a rare occasion for Reaver to be silent, and on most other occasions, I might have welcomed it for a few fleeting seconds of escape. This silence was like a black cloud that hung over us.

"I had nightmares, too," I said suddenly, the words leaving me before I could even think. I shook my head gently, wishing I could rephrase that. "Before ended up at The Shadow Court...I had terrible nightmares."

"I don't have nightmare_s_," he said, emphasizing the _s. _His voice was gruff, almost gravelly. "It is the same nightmare I have always had. One would think that after all the years of existence, that it would have lost its stopping power." It was now clear that he was embarrassed that he had reacted in such a way to a bad dream.

I didn't quite know what to say. I merely looked apologetically into his eyes.

"You woke me before the worst of it," he offered, as if he were trying to comfort me instead of the other way around. "I am thankful for that." He tilted his head, his eyes softening, and his mouth opened, but before he could speak, the door to the bedroom opened.

Anabelle paused as she caught an eyeful of Reaver. Her eyes widened, and her face reddened.

His steely facade slipped into place, and he grinned in her direction. "Well, Anabelle, it seems the tables are turned." His eyebrows rose and fell suggestively as he chuckled softly.

"I...uh...will come back." She blinked softly averting her eyes as she whipped around and left the room.

He sat up, and he pushed off of the bed, releasing my hand carefully as he did so. He was silent, the opportunity for saying what he'd been thinking had obviously passed.

I wished I could gain a little insight to what was going on in his mind. For someone who usually kept perfect composure under the most stressful of situations, this was a completely vulnerable moment. While I wanted to ask the details, I knew that persisting would only drive a distance between us.

I climbed out of bed, and I glanced over to see that he was dressing slowly, his eyes moving up and down my body. I glanced at myself in the mirror, and I saw that the evidence of our brash lovemaking was all over me. I had red marks where he had fiercely grabbed and caressed me, and I pushed my hair back to see a cluster of darkening love-bites up and down my neck. I directed my gaze toward my husband, and I raised my eyebrows.

He merely shrugged, as if to dismiss the marks he'd left, but as he bent to pull on his boots, I saw a fleeting grin of satisfaction creep across his mouth.

I pulled on my robe, pulling the collar tight around my neck to hide the love-bites on my throat, and I arranged my hair into a quick, loose bun that pulled off to one side of the back of my head. The result was more casual-looking, but I was faintly amazed that it had come out passable. I was always terrible at fixing my hair.

Reaver stepped behind me, his fingers stroking gently down my back. He chose not to wear his cravat or vest, but I was sure he would change into a different set of clothes before leaving for Industrial. Taking the pocket watch from his coat, he glanced at the time, and he sighed.

"It seems that we slept in, my dear. I really should be leaving soon," His eyes flicked back up to me, and he looked contemplative for a few moments. He, almost awkwardly, moved in to brush a soft kiss across my lips. "I trust that you will manage to stay out of trouble while I am gone," he said as he cocked a brow.

"Somehow, I'm sure I will," I replied, a hint of sarcasm lining my voice. "Though, I do have a session of court scheduled on the agenda later this morning."

"Then, I am sure you will be as bored here as I will be in Industrial," He assured me, his hand drifting to my shoulder. "If you like, I could return early to sit at your side for court."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I am sure I will be fine."

"I will see you this evening, then."

I nodded, and he turned to leave the room swiftly. As he left, Anabelle entered, now holding a tray. The smell of hot, rich coffee filled the room, and I was immediately thankful. Though I'd slept extremely well the night before, I could never turn down a cup of coffee in the morning. It was also refreshing to have someone to enjoy my coffee with. In the short time Anabelle had been working here, we'd become so closer. It was effortless to be friends with her. At least that was the only effortless thing in my life.

"He stayed with you last night," she said, moving to set the tray down on the coffee table between the two chairs.

"It seems that you weren't alone last night either," I noted, gesturing for her to take a seat as well.

She poured coffee into each of the cups, and she took hers as it was, while I added a small amount of sugar and cream to mine. Her eyes gazed up to me, and she sighed, "I'm sorry that you walked in on that last night. It was silly of us to choose Reaver's room of all places, but-"

"I'm not upset," I told her honestly. "Reaver, I am sure, is having a few choice words with Murphy, but I don't believe that it will go past that."

Anabelle seemed to huff a breath of relief as she took a long sip of her coffee. She smiled silently to herself.

I couldn't help myself. "_So_?"

Her little bubble of silent reflection burst, and she returned her eyes to me. They were light and full of hope and love. She was obviously smitten.

"It was amazing. _He_ was amazing...I mean..." Her face reddened, and she shook her head, her smile spreading even further across her mouth. She glanced back up to me, and she raised her eyebrows. "So I couldn't help but notice that you and Reaver seemed to have reconciled, or did he simply end up naked in your bed by accident?"

I pressed my lips tightly together. "It was no accident."

"What happened?" She questioned, the curiosity written all over her face. "You seemed so dead-set on banishing him from your life. What changed?

I took a long sip of my coffee, and I exhaled. "I just...couldn't say 'no' anymore."

"I imagine His Grace does not take _that_ word very well," she said, her mouth setting into a soft smirk.

"He doesn't," I affirmed, shaking my head. I blinked softly, and I looked back to Anabelle. "I know you dislike him, but...part of me needs him, and I feel like part of him needs me, too."

"Yes," she said with a nod. "I think I know which part of him _needs_ you."

I couldn't help but laugh at that assessment, but I shook my head. "It's something else, I think."

"You love him," She said steadily.

"I do," I said. It felt strange to admit it out loud to another person. I set my coffee cup down, and I sighed. "You think I'm a fool, don't you?"

"If you can love him, there must be some part of him that is worth loving," She said, reaching across the table to put her hand over mine. She added hastily, "However deep and hidden and small that part may be..." She offered me a smile, and she continued, "I feel like we have been friends for a lot longer than we have been. I hope you don't take offense to my...er...blunt way of putting things."

"Not at all," I said. "When I realized I loved him, it wasn't a golden revelation. It sucked the wind from my lungs. It shocked even me, but I can't help the way I feel."

"I understand," She said with a soft nod. "Love doesn't come when it is convenient. It sneaks up on you...even at the worst, most tragic of times."

I watched as she refilled my coffee. Everything she said was completely true. Love could be inconsiderate, and at times, downright cruel. I took my coffee when she offered it, and I sat back into my seat, trying to let the events of the morning fully sink in.

* * *

I sat in the throne stiffly, and I inhaled. Court was as boring as it always had been, but I tried to make the most of it by taking the opportunity to gauge the people's reaction to my sudden "recovery." None of them seemed the wiser that I hadn't been sick.

People had commented on how much my color had improved since the last time they'd seen me, and a few even noted that I looked even more beautiful now. I simply accepted the compliments with grace, but I wished they would stop. It was a terrible reminder of the lie Reaver had told everyone. If anyone knew the truth, I was sure that no one would be bowing or groveling.

When the afternoon was drawing to a close, a man stepped from the crowd. He had a head of thick raven-colored hair, and a long, thin nose that suited his narrow, angular face very well. His eyes were inky and black, and his face was very solemn. He bowed his thick, muscular body graciously as he approached the throne, and he introduced himself.

"Sir Silas Green, Your Majesty, sworn Knight of The Old Guard," he said in a rich voice. "I come to inquire of my sister, Constance. When I received word of her death, I was speechless to say the least."

My heart came to a skidding halt, and I gripped the arms of the throne tightly as I leaned forward. "Y-you may speak," I said unsteadily. Memories of her death flooded my mind, and guilt took hold of me.

"First, might I say that you look very well for having battling such an illness," Sir Silas said, his dark eyes scrutinizing me. "It must have been quite an illness to have The Hero Queen of Albion incapacitated for so long. It's no wonder that my poor sister did not survive."

"I am very sorry for your loss," I said, my voice faltering. I took my hands from the throne, and I folded them in my lap.

"I have received condolences, and I have received pity," He said. "But what I have not yet received are my sister's remains."

I suddenly felt nauseous, and I sucked in a deep breath. Why had I declined Reaver's offer to be at my side?

"The n-nature of your sister's death meant that her r-remains needed to be...er...incinerated," Murphy piped up, stepping to my side and stiffening his back. "I believe that the m-m-mortician has plans to p-put her remains into a very nice urn...courtesy of Her Majesty, of course."

I was surprised. Did Murphy know the complete details of Cosntance's death? I couldn't see why he wouldn't. He was Reaver's most trusted man, and he had been specifically assigned to keep an eye on me in the time since my return. It only made sense that he knew everything.

Sir Silas looked baffled for a moment, and he raised his eyebrows. "No one was speaking to you." He slashed his eyes over to Murphy.

Murphy bowed his head, and stepped back once more.

I stood, and I said, "Mister Murphy was merely answering your question since I was not well at the time of Constance's death." It hurt to say her name out loud, especially when I was lying to her brother's face.

"Your husband: was he incapacitated, too?" Sir Silas asked, his face reddening. "Or was he right as rain, even after tempting my sister into his bed? How did _he_ manage to escape such devastating sickness? Was there even a sickness? Or did you simply get rid of your competition for the affections of your husband?"

The people that remained in the throne room gasped, and a hushed murmur spread through them. Suddenly, my anxiety morphed to anger, and I stiffened. My hand squeezed into a fist, and I met Sir Silas's gaze. "How _dare_..."

Murphy stepped forward once more, seizing Sir Silas by the arm and interrupting my retort. "You _will_ speak to your queen with more respect!" His eyes slashed upward at the larger man, but they were filled with pure contempt. "To accuse her of s-such crimes is treason, and to even suggest that His Grace would stoop so low is downright p-preposterous." Murphy was as skilled at tweaking the truth as Reaver was, it seemed. His face was taut with a heated resolve, and his eyes were steady and clear of any sort of anxiety.

Sir Silas ripped his arm away from Murphy's grip. His face reddened and contorted into one of rage. "Are you looking for a fight, little boy?"

"No, sir," Murphy said, drawing his coat away from his hip and revealing a gleaming polished pistol. "I'm not. If you think you know so much, then you must know that I have b-been trained by the best shot in _all _of Albion, perhaps the world, specifically to p-protect that which he holds most dear." His eyes slashed over to me before moving once more to his target.

I'd never seen Murphy so forceful and assured before. Maybe his tryst with Anabelle had been good for his confidence. Assertiveness looked good on him. Though, I was perfectly capable of handling myself even with a brute such as Sir Silas, it was reassuring that I had someone to watch over me. I would never have expected that stammering, stuttering Murphy could be so intimidating.

"It would be best that you step away and hold your tongue in The Queen's presence," Murphy continued. "That is, if you wish to have it when you leave the castle." His blue eyes burned with such ruthless devotion as he moved to shield me, just in case it was required.

Sir Silas stepped backward, his face becoming less fierce. He wrung his large hands together, and he bowed his head in defeat. "I apologize for my unfounded accusations. I only want my sister back, Your Majesty. She was my only sister, and...she deserves better."

I pressed my lips together, and I glanced to Murphy, who still stood on guard with his hand hovering over his pistol. "Can you see what you can do to give this man the closure he desires?"

Murphy's head tilted, but he then straightened. "Yes, of c-course. I will speak to the mortician at once, and I will see if w-we can send Sir Silas Green on his way home this afternoon...with the remains of course." He gave me a very specific look that read, 'I will handle this.'

I was thankful for Murphy. If he hadn't been there to intervene, I might have cracked under the pressure of my guilt. As grave as her betrayal had been, her family didn't deserve to have to mourn her.

I pressed my lips together, and I returned my attention to Sir Silas, who now looked ashamed. I was at a loss of what to say, so I gulped down the lump in my throat and tried to look composed. "I hope that you find closure here today."

I truly hoped that he did, not only for my own safety, but for the sake of his family. Such sadness and mourning could only lead to more strife, as I knew so well. Silas and I had more in common than he could ever know. I had killed both of our siblings, and it haunted me. I had been thanked for murdering my brother because he had acted out of desperation and let his morals slip. People pitied me when Constance's death became public because they believed I had been so near death. I felt horrible, disgusting, and ashamed, but I had to hide it.

"She was a rare and beautiful girl," Silas said, folding his hands behind his back. "She had so much excitement for life..." He drew in a shaky breath. "It is hard to believe that she is truly gone."

I couldn't look directly at him anymore. It was too painful. I brought a hand to rub at my temple.

"Court is dismissed," I said in a sigh.

As Murphy led Sir Silas away through the crowd, he glanced back over his shoulder to give me another reassuring nod. Murphy surprised me more and more every day since he'd taken this new position. Perhaps I should have replaced Hobson with him the very moment he and Reaver came into my household.

I pushed myself from the throne, and I saw that Anabelle had slipped into the throne room. Her eyes followed her paramour as he left the room with the large knight, but she seemed star struck by him alone. She turned her attention to me once Murphy had disappeared from sight, and she hurried forward to curtsy—making a show of it. I'd asked her to stop curtsying on her very first day. I hadn't felt very regal in our first days together. I didn't feel very regal at the moment ether.

I choked down my sadness and anger, and I tried to put on my best neutral look. I couldn't trouble Anabelle with such things. She'd been so accepting and supportive of me before, but what would she think if she knew the truth?

"So, your afternoon is clear, and I've done what you asked," Anabelle said. "Did you wish to do anything else?"

"For one, I'd love to get out of these stuffy clothes," I huffed, pulling at the collar of the uniform. It would be easier to don the official regalia once the winter had set in, but this year's summer was being particularly stubborn.

"I know you well enough to know that would be your answer," she chuckled with a nod.

"I was thinking of taking Angus for a walk around the garden if you'd like to join me," I said.

Anabelle's eyes warmed, and she nodded. "He is such a sweet thing."

"I feel as if I've been neglecting him since I've come home," I sighed.

"I doubt that Reaver would let him sleep in the bed with you now that he's moved in." She chuckled.

"I'm not sure how either of them would take that," I said in return as we made our way from the throne room. The guards stiffened as we passed.

"There would probably be a fair bit of snarling and whining," she said. "And Angus might act up, too."

I cracked a smile, and we made our way to my chambers.

* * *

I felt much less stifled by the stubborn, dying summer in a cream-colored gown, and my hair was simply pulled from my face and allowed to flow down to my hips in thick chestnut waves. Anabelle always seemed to be able to coax the best behavior out of my hair.

Angus panted excitedly as he returned the stick to me, his feet barely able to keep still. He shuffled back and forth, his eyes fixed intently on the object of his desire. When I tossed it clear across the garden, he tore off, letting out a yip of thanks as he went.

Anabelle laughed from her place on the nearby bench, taking her eyes from her book to watch him lope happily after the stick. She turned her page and immersed herself once more.

My face almost ached from smiling, but it was a pleasant sort of ache. I tucked a stray strand of hair from my field of vision, and I saw that Angus was returning, a smile of his own fixed upon his mouth as he brought me the stick.

I bent to take it from him, and I felt the nudge of someone's hips against my backside. I straightened, and I looked over my shoulder to see Reaver smirking at me, his eyes taking me in.

His fingers ran tenderly through my hair. "Good evening, darling. It seems that you are enjoying yourself with that...animal."

Angus turned his attention on Reaver, and he tilted his head, whining softly. His tongue hung out of the side of his mouth, and he very quickly remembered that I was still holding the stick. His tail wagged, and he yapped until I hurled it further than before.

Reaver spun me to face him, and his eyes sought mine. I expected him to kiss me, but he looked rather more severe than he had moments ago. "I need to speak with you in private, my dear," he said, his mouth tightening a little. "I think, perhaps, that Anabelle can see to it that your pup is thoroughly worn out before returning to his kennel."

Anabelle had already stood up and closed her book by the time Angus came hurrying back with the stick. She got his attention, and tossed the stick speedily. She gave me a nod, assuring me that she was fine with Angus.

Reaver hooked my arm in his, and he led me back toward the castle. His face looked tight and nervous, and when he pushed me into the nearest empty room, I knew that something had clearly upset him.

"This morning," he said, clearing his throat and releasing me. He put his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his posture stiff and formal. "What happened this morning-"

"Doesn't matter," I said. "I certainly cannot complain when my husband wishes to ravish me upon waking." I offered him a slight smile.

His expression softened, but he shook his head. "The nightmares mean that my time of tribute is drawing near. I have eight weeks until I am due in Wraithmarsh."

"And that means that you must find a...sacrifice?" I questioned.

His face went blank, and he turned away. "I have already selected a willing candidate. It makes things less...messy when I can find someone who will go of their own accord."

I almost asked who had volunteered for such a thing, but I decided not to inquire too much. Whoever had given up their future for him had a reason or some sort of compensation waiting, I was sure. "And yet you are still nervous?"

"I am not nervous," he said firmly, turning to face me. I had obviously chosen my words poorly, for he looked agitated now. "I usually do not dwell on the unfortunate details of my little arrangement with The Shadow Court, but I have not personally been to Wraithmarsh in nearly century."

"You usually find someone else to go instead?" I asked.

"Yes. Your mother being one of those _someones_," He said as if I'd somehow insulted him. "I cannot entrust just anyone with such a task. It nearly failed when I placed my faith in your mother, but I had arranged for some poor, beautiful thing to stumble in at precisely the right time...just in case."

"You obviously brought me here to say something," I told him, walking to touch his shoulder. "What is it?"

"I think it would be wise if you accompanied me...so that everyone's questions may be answered," He said. "I would not make you witness the sacrifice itself. In fact, I would prefer if you were not present for that, but you _should_ be present when I demand answers of those wily, wretched beings."

My stomach twisted. The thought of returning to that place so soon did not appeal to me, but I knew it was necessary. "I suppose you're right. It would be best if I...got used to that place."

He heaved a great sigh, and he took one of my hands into both of his. "It will be necessary, yes. I am not sure the terms of your deal, but from what you have told me, I believe your arrangement requires your presence."

After a few moments of silence, Reaver shifted from one foot to the other, and he pulled my gaze to his. "This morning was uncalled for, and I-"

"I already said that it wasn't an issue, Reaver," I said, pulling my hand from his to cup his face tenderly. "Some warning next time would be nice. Perhaps a nice 'hold on for dear life, darling' would be acceptable."

I realized that Reaver was a sexual person. To the best of my knowledge, it was how he handled his problems. It was a character flaw, to be sure, but it was a flaw that no one else had ever been shown. Slowly, he was opening up to me. It was enough for now. I did not want to push him.

A smirk crept across his mouth, and the faintest laughter bubbled from him. "So does this mean that I am allowed to share your bed every night?"

"I've already had your suits moved into my chambers," I said with a smirk. "The rest can come later."

"Yes, I suppose that is a side-effect of co-habitation, isn't it?" he asked, his eyebrows raising. "I don't suppose you would be willing to allow me to bring a few portraits...?"

"I think one of you will be more than enough in the bedroom," I chuckled

* * *

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the open chest sitting on a table in the corner. It held Reaver's Dark Seal, and mine was nestled next to it. It had undoubtedly been there since my return, as I'd requested for him to hold onto it. Next to one another, they looked so astoundingly different. Mine was plain, while his was intricately decorated.

I moved closer, and I took each into my hands. His was even heavier than it had been before. It felt almost painful to hold it, so I placed it back onto the white silk cushion. I turned mine over in my hand. It felt as light as a feather, but it glimmered with a dark magical aura. I set it down next to his, and I closed the top of the chest.

I heard the door open behind me, and I saw that Reaver was ushering Murphy inside of the room. Murphy carefully balanced a tall stack of black books. In addition to the ones that Reaver carried, there must have been nearly four dozen. Unfortunately for Murphy, he wasn't tall enough to see over the edge of his stack, and his foot got tangled in the rug.

He fell forward, and I rushed to catch him. The books tumbled to the ground, and I heard Reaver's tongue click loudly in disapproval. He hurried around the mess that Murphy had created.

I helped Murphy stand fully on his feet before we both crouched down to pick up the volumes. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the edges of the pages were gilded, and I cracked one of the books to see the elegant scrawl of Reaver's handwriting.

"That," Reaver said, pulling the journal from my hand, and inspecting the spine. "Is a year that I would prefer you didn't read."

"How many of these do you have?" I asked, still gathering up the scattered diaries.

"Oh, I think I started about fifty years after I made my arrangement with The Shadow Court," Reaver said casually. "These hold the events of the past twenty-five years or so." He tossed the book behind him, and Murphy scrambled to catch it.

Murphy placed each volume on the shelf of a bookcase that had been moved in. It was large, and I imagined it would hold a quarter of the novel-like diaries.

Reaver, taking a few careful steps toward me, offered a smile, "I wonder how long you will be able to resist the temptation of reading through them any time you get a chance..."

"If you don't want me to read them, why move them in here at all?" I asked, arching a brow. It would probably be both interesting and unsettling to learn Reaver's complete history.

"I cannot simply let them lay about. They go where I go. I have never had to _share_ a living space with someone else," He said, rolling his eyes. Unsatisfied with Murphy's pace of stowing the diaries, he nudged him out of the way and went to work himself.

My eyes found Murphy, and I offered him a soft smile. "Thank you for what you did in court today. I'm honored that you would stand so firmly in your determination to protect me."

Murphy's mouth turned up into a grin. "I w-wasn't protecting you, Your Majesty. I was protecting Sir Silas. Und-doubtedly you would have crushed him in an instant. It would be a shame for the people to have to see that."

Reaver looked to Murphy with a solemn face, as if he'd crossed some sort of line.

Murphy silently backed away, giving me a nod of farewell before he closed the doors and sealed me inside with my frustrated husband.

Reaver started to rearrange the journals, his mouth mumbling unkind words about Murphy's sense of organization. He bent to grab another small stack from the nearby table, and he glanced at their spines, then shoved them into the appropriate places.

I removed the gown I'd been wearing, and I stowed it back in the wardrobe before moving toward the basin of steaming water. My eyes moved over to Reaver, and I saw that he was still distracted with his organization. I slowly removed my underclothes, and the next time I glanced at Reaver, I saw that I had his attention.

I pushed my braid over one shoulder, and I wrung the sponge out before dabbing it across the back of my neck. I washed all over, ignoring my husband who eased closer with every second.

Soon enough, he was behind me, and he took the sponge from my hand. He snaked an arm around me, his mouth tracing across the moist skin of my neck. The fingers of his free hand trailed up my ribs, and I shivered softly.

"Hold on for dear life, darling," He whispered against my skin, and he cupped a breast in his warm, soft hand.

A sigh of approval escaped me as he put the sponge back into the basin, and he pulled me in the direction of the bed.

**A/N: Alrighty! I hope you enjoyed it, and there will be more on the way as soon as I can get it written. Leave me some reviews to let me know what you think, I'm always really happy to hear feedback.**

**As always, I'd like to thank my awesome beta Angelacm. **


End file.
